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INDEX  AND   GLOSSARY. 


THE 


COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH, 


OT-HER     POEMS. 


HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


BOSTON: 
TICK  NOR     AND     FIELDS. 

M  DCCC  LVIII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1858,  by 

HENRY   WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
ELECTROTTPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  METCALP  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


THE   COURTSHIP  OF  MILES   STANDISH. 

PAGE 

I.  MILES  STANDISH      ......  7 

II.  LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP        ....  16 

III.  THE  LOVER'S  ERRAND 27 

IV.  JOHN  ALDEN 43 

V.  THE  SAILING  OF  THE  MAY  FLOWER     .        .  58 

VI.  PRISCILLA 73 

VII.  THE  MARCH  OP  MILES  STANDISH         .          .  84 

VIII.  THE  SPINNING-WHEEL         .        .         .    *  .  95 

IX.  THE  WEDDING-DAY 106 

BIRDS    OF  PASSAGE. 

PROMETHEUS,  OR  THE  POET'S  FORETHOUGHT         .  119 

THE  LADDER  OF  SAINT  AUGUSTINE           .        .  .123 

THE  PHANTOM  SHIP 127 

THE  WARDEN  OF  THE  CINQUE  PORTS       .        .  .131 


IV  CONTENTS. 

HAUNTED  HOUSES     .         .        .        .         .         .        .  135 

IN  THE  CHURCHYARD  AT  CAMBRIDGE         .         .        ,  138 

THE  EMPEROR'S  BIRD'S-NEST           ....  140 

THE  Two  ANGELS 144 

DAYLIGHT  AND  MOONLIGHT 148 

THE  JEWISH  CEMETERY  AT  NEWPORT       .         .         .150 

OLIVER  BASSELIN 155 

VICTOR  GALBRAITH      . 160 

MY  LOST  YOUTH      .        .         .         .         .         .         .  164 

THE  ROPEWALK .170 

THE  GOLDEN  MILE-STONE       .         .         .        .        .  174 

CATAWBA  WINE .178 

SANTA  FILOMENA 182 

THE  DISCOVERER  OP  THE  NORTH  CAPE         .         .  186 

DAYBREAK 194 

THE  FIFTIETH  BIRTHDAY  OF  AGASSIZ           .        .  196 

CHILDREN 199 

SANDALPHON 202 

EPIMETHEUS,  OR  THE  POET'S  AFTERTHOUGHT       .  206 


NOTES 211 


THE 


COURTSHIP  OP  MILES  STANDISH. 


I. 


MILES    STANDISH. 

IN  the  Old  Colony  days,  in  Plymouth  the  land 
of  the  Pilgrims, 

To  and  fro  in  a  room  of  his  simple  and  primi- 
tive dwelling, 

Clad  in  doublet  and  hose,  and  boots  of  Cordo- 
van leather, 

Strode,  with  a  martial  air,  Miles  Standish  the 
Puritan  Captain. 

Buried  in  thought  he  seemed,  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  pausing 

Ever  and  anon  to  behold  his  glittering  weapons 
of  warfare, 


8  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Hanging  in  shining  array  along  the  walls  of 
the  chamber,  — 

Cutlass  and  corslet  of  steel,  and  his  trusty 
sword  of  Damascus, 

Curved  at  the  point  and  inscribed  with  its 
mystical  Arabic  sentence, 

While  underneath,  in  a  corner,  were  fowling- 
piece,  musket,  and  matchlock. 

Short  of  stature  he  was,  but'  strongly  built  and 
athletic, 

Broad  in  the  shoulders,  deep-chested,  with 
muscles  and  sinews  of  iron  ; 

Brown  as  a  nut  was  his  face,  but  his  russet 
beard  was  already 

Flaked  with  patches  of  snow,  as  hedges  some- 
times in  November. 

Near  him  was  seated  John  Alden,  his  friend, 
and  household  companion, 

Writing  with  diligent  speed  at  a  table  of  pine 
by  the  window ; 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  9 

Fair-haired,   azure-eyed,  with   delicate  Saxon 

complexion, 
Having  the  dew  of  his  youth,  and  the  beauty 

thereof,  as  the  captives 
Whom    Saint   Gregory   saw,   and    exclaimed, 

"  Not  Angles  but  Angels." 
Youngest  of  all  was  he  of  the  men  who  came 

in  the  May  Flower. 

Suddenly  breaking  the  silence,  the  diligent 
scribe  interrupting, 

Spake,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  Miles  Stan- 
dish  the  Captain  of  Plymouth. 

"  Look  at  these  arms,"  he  said,  "  the  warlike 
weapons  that  hang  here 

Burnished  and  bright  and  clean,  as  if  for  pa- 
rade or  inspection  ! 

This  is  the  sword  of  Damascus  I  fought  with 
in  Flanders  ;  this  breastplate, 

Well  I  remember  the  day  !  once  saved  my  life 
in  a  skirmish ; 


10  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Here  in  front  you  can  see  the  very  dint  of  the 

bullet 
Fired  point-blank  at  my  heart  by  a  Spanish 

arcabucero. 
Had  it  not  been  of  sheer  steel,  the  forgotten 

bones  of  Miles  Standish 
Would  at  this  moment  be  mould,  in  their  grave 

in  the  Flemish  morasses." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  but  looked 

not  up  from  his  writing  : 
"  Truly  the  breath  of  the  Lord  hath  slackened 

the  speed  of  the  bullet ; 
He  in  his  mercy  preserved  you,  to  be  our  shield 

and  our  weapon !  " 
Still  the   Captain   continued,   unheeding    the 

words  of  the  stripling : 
"  See,  how  bright  they  are  burnished,  as  if  in 

an  arsenal  hanging ; 
That  is  because  I  have  done  it  myself,  and  not 

left  it  to  others. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  11 

Serve  yourself,  would  you  be  well  served,  is  an 
excellent  adage ; 

So  I  take  care  of  my  arms,  as  you  of  your  pens 
and  your  inkhorn. 

Then,  too,  there  are  my  soldiers,  my  great,  in- 
vincible army, 

Twelve  men,  all  equipped,  having  each  his  rest 
and  his  matchlock, 

Eighteen  shillings  a  month,  together  with  diet 
and  pillage, 

And,  like  Caesar,  I  know  the  name  of  each  of 
my  soldiers !  " 

This  he  said  with  a  smile,  that  danced  in  his 
eyes,  as  the  sunbeams 

Dance  on  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  vanish 
again  in  a  moment. 

Alden  laughed  as  he  wrote,  and  still  the  Cap- 
tain continued: 

"  Look !  you  can  see  from  this  window  my 
brazen  howitzer  planted 


12  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

High  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  a  preacher  who 

speaks  to  the  purpose, 

Steady,  straight-forward,  and  strong,  with  irre- 
sistible logic, 
Orthodox,  flashing   conviction   right  into  the 

hearts  of  the  heathen. 
Now  we  are  ready,  I  think,  for  any  assault  of 

the  Indians ; 
Let  them  come,  if  they  like,  and  the  sooner 

they  try  it  the  better,  — 
Let  them  come  if  they  like,  be  it  sagamore, 

sachem,  or  pow-wow, 
Aspinet,  Sarnoset,  Corbitant,  Squanto,  or  To- 

kamahamon !  " 

Long  at  the  window  he  stood,  and  wistfully 
gazed  on  the  landscape, 

Washed  with  a  cold  gray  mist,  the  vapory 
breath  of  the  east-wind, 

Forest  and  meadow  and  hill,  tod  the  steel- 
blue  rim  of  the  ocean, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  13 

Lying  silent  and  sad,  in  the  afternoon  shadows 

and  sunshine. 
Over  his   countenance   flitted   a   shadow  like 

those  on  the  landscape, 
Gloom  intermingled  with  light ;  and  his  voice 

was  subdued  with  emotion, 
Tenderness,  pity,  regret,  as  after  a  pause  he 

proceeded : 
"  Yonder  there,  on  the  hill  by  the  sea,  lies 

buried  Eose  Standish ; 
Beautiful  rose  of  love,  that  bloomed  for  me  by 

the  wayside  ! 
She  was  the  first  to  die  of  all  who  came  in  the 

May  Flower ! 
Green  above  her  is  growing  the  field  of  wheat 

we  have  sown  there, 
Better  to  hide   from  the   Indian   scouts    the 

graves  of  our  people, 
Lest  they  should  count  them  and  see  how  many 

already  have  perished  ! " 


14  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Sadly  his  face  he  averted,  and  strode  up  and 
down,  and  was  thoughtful. 

Fixed  to  the  opposite  wall  was  a  shelf  of 
books,  and  among  them 

Prominent  three,  distinguished  alike  for  bulk 
and  for  binding ; 

Bariffe's  Artillery  Guide,  and  the  Commen- 
taries of  Caesar, 

Out  of  the  Latin  translated  by  Arthur  Gold- 
inge  of  London, 

And,  as  if  guarded  by  these,  between  them  was 
standing  the  Bible. 

Musing  a  moment  before  them,  Miles  Standish 
paused,  as  if  doubtful 

Which  of  the  three  he  should  choose  for  his 
consolation  and  comfort, 

Whether  the  wars  of  the  Hebrews,  the  famous 
campaigns  of  the  Romans, 

Or  the  Artillery  practice,  designed  for  bellige- 
rent Christians. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  15 

Finally  down  from  its  shelf  he  dragged  the 
ponderous  Roman, 

Seated  himself  at  the  window,  #nd  opened  the 
book,  and  in  silence 

Turned  o'er  the  well-worn  leaves,  where  thumb- 
marks  thick  on  the  margin, 

Like  the  trample  of  feet,  proclaimed  the  battle 
was  hottest. 

Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurry- 
ing pen  of  the  stripling, 

Busily  writing  epistles  important,  to  go  by  the 
May  Flower, 

Ready  to  sail  on  the  morrow,  or  next  day  at 
latest,  God  willing ! 

Homeward  bound  with  the  tidings  of  all  that 
terrible  winter, 

Letters  written  by  Alden,  and  full  of  the  name 
of  Priscilla, 

Full  of  the  name  and  the  fame  of  the  Puritan 
maiden  Priscilla ! 


16 


II. 


LOVE   AND    FRIENDSHIP. 

NOTHING  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurry- 
ing pen  of  the  stripling, 

Or  an  occasional  sigh  from  the  laboring  heart 
of  the  Captain, 

Reading  the  marvellous  words  and  achieve- 
ments of  Julius  Caesar. 

After  a  while  he  exclaimed,  as  lie.  smote  with 
his  hand,  palm  downwards, 

Heavily  on  the  page :  "  A  wonderful  man  was 
this  Caesar ! 

You  are  a  writer,  and  I  am  a  fighter,  but  here 
is  a  fellow 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  17 

Who  could  both  write  and  fight,  and  in  both 

was  equally  skilful !  " 
Straightway  answered  and  spake  John  Alden, 

the  comely,  the  youthful  : 
"  Yes,  he  was  equally  skilled,  as  you  say,  with 

his  pen  and  his  weapons. 
Somewhere  have  I  read,  but  where  I  forget,  he 

could  dictate 
Seven  letters  at  once,  at  the  same  time  writing 

his  memoirs." 
"  Truly,"  continued  the  Captain,  not  heeding 

or  hearing  the  other, 
"Truly  a  wonderful  man  was   Gaius  Julius 

Cassar ! 
Better  be  first,  he   said,  in  a  little  Iberian 

village, 
Than  be  second  in  Rome,  and  I  think  he  was 

right  when  he  said  it. 
Twice  was  he  married  before  he  was  twenty, 

and  many  times  after ; 


18  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Battles  five  hundred  he  fought,  and  a  thousand 

cities  he  conquered ; 
He,  too,  fought  in  Flanders,  as  he  himself  has 

recorded ; 
Finally  he  was  stabbed  by  his  friend,  the  orator 

Brutus ! 
Now,  do  you  know  what  he  did  on  a  certain 

occasion  in  Flanders, 
When  the  rear-guard  of  his  army  retreated, 

the  front  giving  way  too, 
And  the  immortal  Twelfth  Legion  was  crowded 

so  closely  together 
There  was  no  room  for  their  swords?     Why, 

he  seized  a  shield  from  a  soldier, 
Put  himself  straight  at  the  head  of  his  troops, 

and  commanded  the  captains, 
Calling  on  each  by  his  name,  to  order  forward 

the  ensigns ; 
Then  to  widen  the  ranks,  and  give  more  room 

for  their  weapons ; 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  19 

So  he  won  the  day,  the  battle  of  something-or- 

other. 
That's  what  I  always  say;  if  you  wish  a  thing 

to  be  well  done. 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave 

it  to  others  ! " 

All  was  silent  again  ;  the  Captain  continued 
his  reading. 

Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurry- 
ing pen  of  the  stripling 

Writing  epistles  important  to  go  next  day  by 
the  May  Flower, 

Pilled  with  the  name  and  the  fame  of  the  Pu- 
ritan maiden  Priscilla ; 

Every  sentence  began  or  closed  with  the  name 
of  Priscilla, 

Till  the  treacherous  pen,  to  which  he  confided 
the  secret, 

Strove  to  betray  it  by  singing  and  shouting  the 
name  of  Priscilla ! 


20  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Finally  closing  his  book,  with  a  bang  of  the 

ponderous  cover, 
Sudden  and  loud   as  the  sound  of  a  soldier 

grounding  his  musket, 
Thus  to  the  young  man  spake  Miles  Standish 

the  Captain  of  Plymouth : 
"  When  you  have  finished  your  work,  I  have 

something  important  to  tell  you. 
Be  not  however  in  haste ;  I  can  wait ;  I  shall 

not  be  impatient !  " 
Straightway  Alden  replied,  as  he  folded  the 

last  of  his  letters, 
Pushing  his  papers  aside,  and  giving  respectful 

attention : 
"  Speak ;  for  whenever  you  speak,  I  am  always 

ready  to  listen, 
Always   ready  to   hear   whatever  pertains  to 

Miles  Standish." 
Thereupon  answered  the  Captain,  embarrassed, 

and  culling  his  phrases : 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  21 

"  "Pis  not  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone,  say  the 

Scriptures. 
This  I  have  said  before,  and  again  and  again 

I  repeat  it  ; 
Every  hour  in  the  day,  I  think  it,  and  feel  it, 

and  say  it. 
Since  Rose   Standish  died,  my  life   has  been 

weary  and  dreary  ; 
Sick  at  heart  have  I  been,  beyond  the  healing 

of  friendship. 
Oft  in  my  lonely  hours  have  I  thought  of  the 

maiden  Priscilla. 
She  is  alone   in   the  world ;    her   father   and 

mother  and  brother 
Died  in  the  winter  together ;  I  saw  her  going 

and  coming, 
Now  to  the  grave  of  the  dead,  and  now  to  the 

bed  of  the  dying, 
Patient,  courageous,  and  strong,  and   said  to 

myself,  that  if  ever 


22  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STAKDISH. 

There  were  angels  on  earth,  as  there  are  angels 

in  heaven. 
Two  have  I  seen  and  known ;  and  the  angel 

whose  name  is  Priscilla 
Holds  in  my  desolate  life  the  place  which  the 

other  abandoned. 
Long  have  I  cherished  the  thought,  but  never 

have  dared  to  reveal  it, 
Being  a  coward  in  this,  though  valiant  enough 

for  the  most  part. 
Go  to  the  damsel  Priscilla,  the  loveliest  maiden 

of  Plymouth, 
Say  that  a  blunt  old  Captain,  a  man  not  of 

words  but  of  actions, 
Offers  his  hand  and  his  heart,  the  hand  and 

heart  of  a  soldier. 
Not  in  these  words,  you  know,  but  this  in  short 

is  my  meaning ; 
I  am  a  maker  of  war,  and  not  a  maker  of 

phrases. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  23 

You,  who  are  bred  as  a  scholar,  can  say  it  in 
elegant  language, 

Such  as  you  read  in  your  books  of  the  plead- 
ings and  wooings  of  lovers, 

Such  as  you  think  best  adapted  to  win  the 
heart  of  a  maiden." 

When  he  had  spoken,  John  Alden,  the  fair- 
haired,  taciturn  stripling, 

All  aghast  at  his  words,  surprised,  embarrassed, 
bewildered, 

Trying  to  mask  his  dismay  by  treating  the 
subject  with  lightness, 

Trying  to  smile,  and  yet  feeling  his  heart  stand 
still  in  his  bosom, 

Just  as  a  timepiece  stops  in  a  house  that  is 
stricken  by  lightning, 

Thus  made  answer  and  spake,  or  rather  stam- 
mered than  answered : 

"  Such  a  message  as  that,  I  am  sure  I  should 
mangle  and  mar  it ; 


24  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

If  you  would  have  it  well  done,  —  I  am  only 

repeating  your  maxim,  — 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it 

to  others  !  " 
But  with  the  air  of  a  man  whom  nothing  can 

turn  from  his  purpose, 
Gravely  shaking  his  head,  made  answer  the 

Captain  of  Plymouth : 
"  Truly  the  maxim  is  good,  and  I  do  not  mean 

to  gainsay  it ; 
But  we  must  use  it  discreetly,  and  not  waste 

powder  for  nothing. 
Now,  as  I  said  before,  I  was  never  a  maker  of 

phrases. 
I  can  march  up  to  a  fortress  and  summon  the 

place  to  surrender, 

But  march  up  to  a  woman  with  such  a  propo- 
sal, I  dare  not. 
I  'm  not  afraid  of  bullets,  nor  shot  from  the 

mouth  of  a  cannon, 


THE   COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH.          25 

But  of  a  thundering  "  No !  "  point-blank  from 

the  mouth  of  a  woman. 
That  I  confess  I  'm  afraid  of,  nor  am  I  ashamed 

to  confess  it ! 
So  you  must  grant  my  request,  for  you  are  an 

elegant  scholar, 
Haying  the  graces  of  speech,  and  skill  in  the 

turning  of  phrases." 
Taking  the  hand  of  his  friend,  who  still  was 

reluctant  and  doubtful, 
Holding  it  long  in  his  own,  and  pressing  it 

kindly,  he  added : 
"  Though  I  have  spoken  thus  lightly,  yet  deep 

is  the  feeling  that  prompts  me  ; 
Surely  you  cannot  refuse  what  I  ask  in  the 

name  of  our  friendship !  " 
Then  made  answer  John  Alden  :  "  The  name 

of  friendship  is  sacred ; 
What  you  demand  in  that  name,  I  have  not  the 

power  to  deny  you  !  " 


26  THE    COURTSHIP   OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

So   the   strong  will   prevailed,   subduing   and 

moulding  the  gentler. 
Friendship  prevailed  over  love,  and  Alden  went 

on  his  errand. 


27 


III. 

THE     LOVER'S   ERRAND. 

So  the  strong  will  prevailed,  and  Alden  went 
on  his  errand, 

Out  of  the  street  of  the  village,  and  into  the 
paths  of  the  forest, 

Into  the  tranquil  woods,  where  blue-birds  and 
robins  were  building 

Towns  in  the  populous  trees,  with  hanging 
gardens  of  verdure, 

Peaceful,  aerial  cities  of  joy  and  affection  and 
freedom. 

All  around  him  was  calm,  but  within  him  com- 
motion and  conflict, 


28  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Love  contending  with  friendship,  and  self  with 

each  generous  impulse. 
To   and   fro  in  his  breast  his  thoughts  were 

heaving  and  dashing, 
As  in  a  foundering  ship,  with  every  roll  of  the 

vessel, 
Washes  the  bitter  sea,  the  merciless  surge  of 

the  ocean ! 
"  Must  I  relinquish  it  all,"  he  cried  with  a  wild 

lamentation, 
"  Must  I  relinquish  it  all,  the  joy,  the  hope,  the 

illusion  ? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  loved,  and  waited,  and 

worshipped  in  silence  ? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  followed  the  flying  feet 

and  the  shadow 
Over  the  wintry  sea,  to  the  desolate  shores  of 

New  England  ? 
Truly  the  heart  is   deceitful,  and  out  of  its 

depths  of  corruption 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  29 

Else,  like  an  exhalation,  the  misty  phantoms  of 
passion ; 

Angels  of  light  they  seem,  but  are  only  delu- 
sions of  Satan. 

All  is  clear  to  me  now  ;  I  feel  it,  I  see  it  dis- 
tinctly ! 

This  is  the  hand  of  the  Lord ;  it  is  laid  upon 
me  in  anger, 

For  I  have  followed  too  much  the  heart's  de- 
sires and  devices, 

Worshipping  Astaroth  blindly,  and  impious 
idols  of  Baal. 

This  is  the  cross  I  must  bear  ;  the  sin  and  the 
swift  retribution." 

So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden 

went  on  his  errand  ; 
Crossing  the  brook  at  the  ford,  where  it  brawled 

over  pebble  and  shallow, 
Gathering  still,  as  he  went,  the  May-flowers 

blooming  around  him, 


30  THE    COURTSHIP   OF  MILES    STANDISH. 

Fragrant,  filling  the  air  with  a  strange   and 

wonderful  sweetness, 

•f 
Children  lost  in  the  woods,  and  covered  with 

leaves  in  their  slumber. 
"  Puritan  flowers,"  he  said,  "  and  the  type  of 

Puritan  maidens. 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  the  very  type 

of  Priscilla ! 
So  I  will  take  them  to  her ;  to  Priscilla  the 

May-flower  of  Plymouth, 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  as  a  parting 

gift  will  I  take  them ; 
Breathing  their  silent  farewells,  as  they  fade 

and  wither  and  perish, 
Soon  to  be  thrown  away  as  is  the  heart  of  the 

giver." 
So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden 

went  on  his  errand  ; 
Came  to  an  open  space,  and  saw  the  disk  of 

the  ocean, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  31 

Sailless,  sombre  and  cold  with  the  comfortless 

breath  of  the  east-wind  ; 
Saw  the  new-built  house,  and  people  at  work 

in  a  meadow ; 
Heard,  as  he  drew  near  the  door,  the  musical 

voice  of  Priscilla 
Singing  the  hundredth  Psalm,  the  grand  old 

Puritan  anthem, 
Music  that  Luther  sang  to  the  sacred  words  of 

the  Psalmist, 
Full  of  the  breath  of  the  Lord,  consoling  and 

comforting  many. 
Then,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  beheld  the 

form  of  the  maiden 
Seated  beside  her  wheel,  and  the  carded  wool 

like  a  snow-drift 
Piled  at  her  knee,  her  white  hands  feeding  the 

ravenous  spindle, 
While  with  her  foot  on  the  treadle  she  guided 

the  wheel  in  its  motion. 


32  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Open  wide  on  her  lap  lay  the  well-worn  psalm- 
book  of  Ainsworth, 

Printed  in  Amsterdam,  the  words  and  the 
music  together, 

Rough-hewn,  angular  notes,  like  stones  in  the 
wall  of  a  churchyard, 

Darkened  and  overhung  by  the  running  vine  of 
the  verses. 

Such  was  the  book  from  whose  pages  she  sang 
the  old  Puritan  anthem, 

She,  the  Puritan- girl,  in  the  solitude  of  the 
forest, 

Making  the  humble  house  and  the  modest  ap- 
parel of  home-spun 

Beautiful  with  her  beauty,  and  rich  with  the 
wealth  of  her  being  ! 

Over  him  rushed,  like  a  wind  that  is  keen 
and  cold  and  relentless, 

Thoughts  of  what  might  have  been,  and  the 
weight  and  woe  of  his  errand  ; 


THE    COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH.  33 

All  the  dreams  that  had  faded,  and  all  the 

hopes  that  had  vanished, 
All  his  life  henceforth  a  dreary  and  tenantless 

mansion, 
Haunted  by  vain  regrets,  and  pallid,  sorrowful 

faces. 
Still  he  said  to  himself,  and  almost  fiercely  he 

said  it, 
"  Let  not  him  that  putteth  his  hand  to  the 

plough  look  backwards ; 
Though    the    ploughshare    cut    through    the 

flowers  of  life  to  its  fountains, 
Though  it  pass  o'er  the  graves  of  the  dead  and 

the  hearths  of  the  living, 
It  is  the  will  of  the  Lord  ;  and  his  mercy  en- 

dureth  for  ever  !  " 

So  he  entered  the  house:  and  the  hum  of 
the  wheel  and  the  singing 

3 


34  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Suddenly  ceased ;  for  Priscilla,  aroused  by  his 
step  on  the  threshold, 

Rose  as  he  entered,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  in 
signal  of  welcome, 

Saying,  "  I  knew  it  was  you,  when  I  heard 
your  step  in  the  passage ; 

For  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  I  sat  there  sing- 
ing and  spinning." 

Awkward  and  dumb  with  delight,  that  a 
thought  of  him  had  been  mingled 

Thus  in  the  sacred  psalm,  that  came  from  the 
heart  of  the  maiden, 

Silent  before  her  he  stood,  and  gave  her  the 
flowers  for  an  answer, 

Finding  no  words  for  his  thought.  He  remem- 
bered that  day  in  the  winter, 

After  the  first  great  snow,  when  he  broke  a 
path  from  the  village, 

Reeling  and  plunging  along  through  the  drifts 
that  encumbered  the  doorway, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  35 

Stamping  the  snow  from  his  feet  as  he  entered 

the  house,  "and  Priscilla 
Laughed  at  his  snowy  locks,  and  gave  him  a 

seat  by  the  fireside. 
Grateful  and  pleased  to  know  he  had  thought 

of  her  in  the  snow-storm. 
Had  he  but  spoken  then  !   perhaps  not  in  vain 

had  he  spoken ; 
Now  it  was  all  too  late ;  the  golden  moment 

had  vanished ! 
So  he  stood  there  abashed,  and  gave  her  the 

flowers  for  an  answer. 

Then  they  sat  down  and  talked  of  the  birds 

and  the  beautiful  Spring-time, 
Talked  of  their  friends  at  home,  and  the  May 

Flower  that  sailed  on  the  morrow. 
"  I  have  been  thinking  all  day,"  said  gently 

the  Puritan  maiden, 
"  Dreaming  all  night,  and  thinking  all  day,  of 

the  hedge-rows  of  England,  — 


36          THE   COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

They  are  in  blossom  now,  and  the  country  is 

all  like  a  garden ; 
Thinking  of  lanes  and  fields,  and  the  song  of 

the  lark  and  the  linnet, 
Seeing  the  village  street,  and  familiar  faces  of 

neighbors 
Going  about  as  of  old,  and  stopping  to  gossip 

together, 
And,  at  the  end  of  the  street,  the  village  church, 

with  the  ivy 
Climbing  the  old  gray  tower,  and  the  quiet 

graves  in  the  churchyard. 
Kind  are  the  people  I  live  with,  and  dear  to 

me  my  religion ; 
Still  my  heart  is  so  sad,  that  I  wish  myself  back 

in  Old  England. 
You  will  say  it  is  wrong,  but  I  cannot  help  it  : 

I  almost 
Wish  myself  back  in  Old  England,  I  feel  so 

lonely  and  wretched." 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  37 

Thereupon  answered  the  youth :  —  "  Indeed 

I  do  not  condemn  you ; 
Stouter  hearts  than  a  woman's  have  quailed  in 

this  terrible  winter. 
Yours  is  tender  and  trusting,   and  needs   a 

stronger  to  lean  on  ; 
So  I  have  come  to  you  now,  with  an  offer  and 

proffer  of  marriage 
Made  by  a  good  man  and  true.  Miles  Standish 

the  Captain  of  Plymouth  !  " 

Thus  he  delivered  his  message,  the  dexterous 

writer  of  letters,  — 
Did  not  embellish  the  theme,  nor  array  it  in 

beautiful  phrases, 
But  came  straight  to  the  point,  and  blurted  it 

out  like  a  schoolboy  ; 
Even  the  Captain  himself  could  hardly  have 

said  it  more  bluntly. 
Mute  with  amazement  and  sorrow,  Priscilla  the 

Puritan  maiden 


38  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Looked  into  Alden's  face,  her  eyes  dilated  with 

wonder, 
Peeling  his  words  like   a  blow,    that  stunned 

her  and  rendered  her  speechless ; 
Till  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the 

ominous  silence : 
"  If  the  great  tiaptain  of  Plymouth  is  so  very 

eager  to  wed  me, 
•Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the 

trouble  to  woo  me  ? 
If  I  am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I  surely  am  not 

worth  the  winning  !  " 

Then  John  Alden  began  explaining  and  smooth- 
ing the  matter, 
Making  it  worse   as  he  went,  by  saying  the 

Captain  was  busy,  — 
Had  no  time  for  such  things ;  —  such  things ! 

the  words  grating  harshly 
Fell  on  the   ear  of  Priscilla;  and  swift  as  a 

flash  she  made  answer: 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  39 

"Has  he  no  time  for  such  things,  as  you  call  it, 
before  he  is  married, 

Would  he  be  likely  to  find  it,  or  make  it,  after 
the  wedding  ? 

That  is  the  way  with  you  men  ;  you  don't  un- 
derstand us,  you  cannot. 

When  you  have  made  up  your  minds,  after 
thinking  of  this  one  and  that  one, 

Choosing,  selecting,  rejecting,  comparing  one 
with  another, 

Then  you  make  known  your  desire,  with  ab- 
rupt and  sudden  avowal, 

And  are  offended  and  hurt,  and  indignant  per- 
haps, that  a  woman 

Does  not  respond  at  once  to  a  love  that  she 
never  suspected, 

Does  not  attain  at  a  bound  the  height  to  which 
you  have  been  climbing. 

This  is  not  right  nor  just:  for  surely  a  woman's 
affection 


40  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Is  not  a  tiling  to  be  asked  for,  and  had  for  only 

the  asking. 
When  one  is  truly  in  love,  one  not  only  says  it, 

but  shows  it. 
Had  he  but  waited  awhile,  had  he  only  showed 

that  he  loved  me, 
Even  this  Captain  of  yours  —  who  knows?  — 

at  last  might  have  won  me, 
Old  and  rough  as  he  is ;  but  now  it  never 

can  happen." 

Still  John  Alden  went  on,  unheeding  the 
words  of  Priscilla, 

Urging  the  suit  of  his  friend,  explaining,  per- 
suading, expanding ; 

Spoke  of  his  courage  and  skill,  and  of  all  his 
battles  in  Flanders, 

How  with  the  people  of  God  he  had  chosen  to 
suffer  affliction, 

How,  in  return  for  his  zeal,  they  had  made  him 
Captain  of  Plymouth  ; 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  41 

He  was  a  gentleman  born,  could  trace  his  pedi- 
gree plainly 
Back  to  Hugh  Standish  of  Duxbury  Hall,  in 

Lancashire,  England, 
Who  was  the  son  of  Ralph,  and  the  grandson 

of  Thurston  de  Standish ; 
Heir  unto  vast  estates,  of  which  he  was  basely 

defrauded, 
Still  bore  the  family  arms,  and  had  for  his  crest 

a  cock  argent 
Combed  and  wattled  gules,  and  all  the  rest  of 

the  blazon. 
He  was  a  man  of  honor,  of  noble  and  generous 

nature  ; 
Though  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly ;    she 

knew  how  during  the  winter 
He  had  attended  the  sick,  with  a  hand  as  gen- 
tle as  woman's ; 
Somewhat  hasty  and  hot,  he  could  not  deny  it, 

and  headstrong. 


42  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Stern  as  a  soldier  might  be,  but  hearty,  and 
placable  always, 

Not  to  be  laughed  at  and  scorned,  because  he 
was  little  of  stature  ; 

For  he  was  great  of  heart,  magnanimous,  court- 
ly, courageous; 

Any  woman  in  Plymouth,  nay,  any  woman 
in  England, 

Might  be  happy  and  proud  to  be  called  the 
wife  of  Miles  Standish ! 

But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple 
and  eloquent  language, 

Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of 
his  rival, 

Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  over- 
running with  laughter, 

Said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  Why  don't  you 
speak  for  yourself,  John  ?  " 


IV.    . 

JOHN   ALDEN. 

INTO  the  open  air  John  Alden,  perplexed  and 
bewildered, 

Rushed  like  a  man  insane,  and  wandered  alone 
by  the  sea-side ; 

Paced  up  and  down  the  sands,  and  bared  his 
head  to  the  east-wind, 

Cooling  his  heated  brow,  and  the  fire  and 
fever  within  him. 

Slowly  as  out  of  the  heavens,  with  apocalypti- 
cal splendors, 

Sank  the  City  of  God,  in  the  vision  of  John 
the  Apostle, 


44          THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

So,  with  its  cloudy  walls  of  chrysolite,  jasper, 

and  sapphire, 
Sank  the  broad  red  sun,  and  over  its  turrets 

uplifted 
Glimmered  the  golden  reed  of  the  angel  who 

measured  the  city. 

"  Welcome,  0  wind  of  the  East !  "  he  ex- 
claimed in  his  wild  exultation, 

"  Welcome,  0  wind  of  the  East,  from  the  caves 
of  the  misty  Atlantic ! 

Blowing  o'er  fields  of  dulse,  and  measureless 
meadows  of  sea-grass, 

Blowing  o'er  rocky  wastes,  and  the  grottos  and 
gardens  of  ocean ! 

Lay  thy  cold,  moist  hand  on  my  burning  fore- 
head, and  wrap  me 

Close  in  thy  garments  of  mist,  to  allay  the 
fever  within  me  !  " 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  45 

Like  an  awakened  conscience,  the  sea  was 

moaning  and  tossing, 
Beating  remorseful  and  loud  the  mutable  sands 

of  the  sea-shore. 
Fierce  in  his  soul  was  the  struggle  and  tumult 

of  passions  contending ; 
Love  triumphant  and  crowned,  and  friendship 

wounded  and  bleeding, 
Passionate   cries  of  desire,   and  importunate 

pleadings  of  duty ! 
"  Is  it  my  fault,"  he  said,  "  that  the  maiden 

has  chosen  between  us  ? 
Is  it  my  fault  that  he  failed,  —  my  fault  that  I 

am  the  victor  ?  " 
Then  within  him  there  thundered  a  voice,  like 

the  voice  of  the  Prophet : 
"  It  hath    displeased    the   Lord !  "  —  and  he 

thought  of  David's  transgression, 
Bathsheba's  beautiful  face,  and  his  friend  in 

the  front  of  the  battle ! 


46  THE    COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Shame  and  confusion  of  guilt,  and  abasement 
and  self-condemnation, 

Overwhelmed  him  at  once ;  and  he  cried  in  the 
deepest  contrition : 

"  It  hath  displeased  the  Lord !  It  is  the  temp- 
tation of  Satan !  " 

Then,  uplifting  his  head,  he  looked  at  the 

sea,  and  beheld  there 
Dimly  the  shadowy  form  of  the  May  Flower 

riding  at  anchor, 
Eocked  on  the  rising  tide,  and  ready  to  sail  on 

the  morrow ; 
Heard  the  voices  of  men  through  the  mist,  the 

rattle  of  cordage 
Thrown  on  the  deck,  the  shouts  of  the  mate, 

and  the  sailors'  "  Ay,  ay,  Sir  !  " 
Clear  and  distinct,  but  not  loud,  in  the  dripping 

air  of  the  twilight. 
Still  for  a  moment  he  stood,  and  listened,  and 

stared  at  the  vessel, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  47 

Then  went  hurriedly  on,  as  one  who,  seeing  a 

phantom, 
Stops,  then  quickens  his  pace,  and  follows  the 

beckoning  shadow. 
"  Yes,  it  is  plain  to  me  now,"  he  murmured ; 

"  the  hand  of  the  Lord  is 
Leading  me  out  of  the  land  of  darkness,  the 

bondage  of  error, 
Through  the  sea,  that  shall  lift  the  walls  of  its 

waters  around  me, 
Hiding  me,   cutting  me  off,  from  the   cruel 

thoughts  that  pursue  me. 
Back  will  I  go  o'er  the  ocean,  this  dreary  land 

will  abandon, 
Her  whom  I  may  not  love,  and  him  whom  my 

heart  has  offended. 
Better  to  be  in  my  grave  in  the  green  old 

churchyard  in  England, 
Close  by  my  mother's  side,  and  among  the  dust 

of  my  kindred ; 


48  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Better  be  dead  and  forgotten,  than  living  in 
shame  and  dishonor ! 

Sacred  and  safe  and  unseen,  in  the  dark  of  the 
narrow  chamber 

With  me  my  secret  shall  lie,  like  a  buried  jew- 
el that  glimmers 

Bright  on  the  hand  that  is  dust,  in  the  cham- 
bers of  silence  and  darkness, — 

Yes,  as  the  marriage  ring  of  the  great  espou- 
sal hereafter ! " 

Thus  as  he  spake,  he  turned,  in  the  strength 

of  his  strong  resolution, 
Leaving  behind  him  the  shore,   and  hurried 

along  in  the  twilight, 
Through   the   congenial   gloom   of  the   forest 

silent  and  sombre, 
Till  he  beheld  the  lights  in  the  seven  houses  of 

Plymouth, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  49 

Shining  like  seven  stars  in  the  dusk  and  mist 
of  the  evening. 

Soon  he  entered  his  door,  and  found  the  re- 
doubtable Captain 

Sitting  alone,  and  absorbed  in  the  martial  pa- 
ges of  Cassar, 

Fighting  some  great  campaign  in  Hainault  or 
Brabant  or  Flanders. 

"  Long  have  you  been  on  your  errand,"  he  said 
with  a  cheery  demeanor, 

Even  as  one  who  is  waiting  an  answer,  and 
fears  not  the  issue. 

"Not  far  off  is  the  house,  although  the  woods 
are  between  us ; 

But  you  have  lingered  so  long,  that  while  you 
were  going  and  coming 

I  have  fought  ten  battles  and  sacked  and  de- 
molished a  city. 

Come,  sit  down,  and  in  order  relate  to  me  all 
that  has  happened." 


50  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Then  John  Alden  spake,  and  related  the 
wondrous  adventure, 

From  beginning  to  end,  minutely,  just  as  it 
happened ; 

How  he  had  seen  Priscilla,  and  how  he  had 
sped  in  his  courtship, 

Only  smoothing  a  little,  and  softening  down  her 
refusal. 

But  when  he  came  at  length  to  the  words  Pris- 
cilla had  spoken, 

"Words  so  tender  and  cruel :  "  Why  don't  you 
speak  for  yourself,  John  ?  " 

Up  leaped  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and 
stamped  on  the  floor,  till  his  armor 

Clanged  on  the  wall,  where  it  hung,  with  a 
sound  of  sinister  omen. 

All  his  pent-up  wrath  burst  forth  in  a  sudden 
explosion, 

Even  as  a  hand-grenade,  that  scatters  destruc- 
tion around  it. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  51 

Wildly  lie  shouted,  and  loud :  "  John  Alden  ! 
you  have  betrayed  me  ! 

Me,  Miles  Standish,  your  friend !    have  sup- 
planted, defrauded,  betrayed  me ! 

One  of  my  ancestors  ran  his  sword  through  the 
heart  of  Wat  Tyler ; 

Who  shall  prevent  me  from  running  my  own 
through  the  heart  of  a  traitor  ? 

Yours  is  the  greater  treason,  for  yours  is  a  trea- 
son to  friendship ! 

You,  who  lived  under  my  roof,  whom  I  cher- 
ished and  loved  as  a  brother; 

You,'  who  have  fed  at  my  board,  and  drunk  at 
my  cup,  to  whose  keeping 

I  have  intrusted  my  honor,  my  thoughts  the 
most  sacred  and  secret, — 

You  too,  Brutus !    ah  woe   to   the   name   of 
friendship  hereafter ! 

Brutus  was  Caesar's  friend,  and  you  were  mine, 
but  henceforward 


52  THE    COURTSHIP   OP   MILES    STANDISH. 

Let  there  be  nothing  between  us  save  war,  and 
implacable  hatred ! " 

So  spake  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and 
strode  about  in  the  chamber, 

Chafing  and  choking  with  rage ;  like  cords 
were  the  veins  on  his  temples. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  anger  a  man  appeared 
at  the  doorway, 

Bringing  in  uttermost  haste  a  message  of  ur- 
gent importance, 

Rumors  of  danger  and  war  and  hostile  incur- 
sions of  Indians  ! 

Straightway  the  Captain  paused,  and,  without 
further  question  or  parley, 

Took  from  the  nail  on  the  wall  his  sword  with 
its  scabbard  of  iron, 

Buckled  the  belt  round  his  waist,  and,  frown- 
ing fiercely,  departed. 

Alden  was  left  alone.  He  heard  the  clank  of 
the  scabbard 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF  MILES    STANDISH.  53 

Growing  fainter  and  fainter,  and  dying  away 

in  the  distance. 
Then  he  arose  from  his  seat,  and  looked  forth 

into  the  darkness, 
Felt  the  cool  air  blow  on  his  cheek,  that  was 

hot  with  the  insult, 
Lifted  his  eyes  to  the  heavens,  and,  folding  his 

hands  as  in  childhood, 
Prayed  in  the  silence  of  night  to  the  Father 

who  seeth  in  secret. 

Meanwhile  the  choleric  Captain  strode  wrath- 
ful away  to  the  council, 

Found  it  already  assembled,  impatiently  wait- 
ing his  coming ; 

Men  in  the  middle  of  life,  austere  and  grave  in 
deportment, 

Only  one  of  them  old,  the  hill  that  was  nearest 
to  heaven, 

Covered  with  snow,  but  erect,  the  excellent 
Elder  of  Plymouth. 


54  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

God  had  sifted  three  kingdoms  to  find  the 
wheat  for  this  planting. 

Then  had  sifted  the  wheat,  as  the  living  seed  of 
a  nation ; 

So  say  the  chronicles  old,  and  such  is  the  faith 
of  the  people  ! 

Near  them  was  standing  an  Indian,  in  attitude 
stern  and  defiant, 

Naked  down  to  the  waist,  and  grim  and  fero- 
cious in  aspect ; 

While  on  the  table  before  them  was  lying  un- 
opened a  Bible, 

Ponderous,  bound  in  leather,  brass-studded, 
printed  in  Holland, 

And  beside  it  outstretched  the  skin  of  a  rattle- 
snake glittered, 

Filled,  like  a  quiver,  with  arrows ;  a  signal  and 
challenge  of  warfare, 

Brought  by  the  Indian,  and  speaking  with 
arrowy  tongues  of  defiance. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  55 

This  Miles  Standish  beheld,  as  he  entered,  and 
heard  them  debating 

What  were  an  answer  befitting  the  hostile  mes- 
sage and  menace, 

Talking  of  this  and  of  that,  contriving,  suggest- 
ing, objecting ; 

One  voice  only  for  peace,  and  that  the  voice  of 
the  Elder, 

Judging  it  wise  and  well  that  some  at  least 
were  converted, 

Rather  than  any  were  slain,  for  this  was  but 
Christian  behavior ! 

Then  outspake  Miles  Standish,  the  stalwart 
Captain  of  Plymouth, 

Muttering  deep  in  his  throat,  for  his  voice  was 
husky  with  anger, 

"  What !  do  you  mean  to  make  war  with  milk 
and  the  water  of  roses  ? 

Is  it  to  shoot  red  squirrels  you  have  your  how- 
itzer planted 


56  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

There  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  or  is  it  to 
shoot  red  devils  ? 

Truly  the  only  tongue  that  is  understood  by  a 
savage 

Must  be  the  tongue  of  fire  that  speaks  from  the 
mouth  of  the  cannon !  " 

Thereupon  answered  and  said  the  excellent 
Elder  of  Plymouth, 

Somewhat  amazed  and  alarmed  at  this  irrev- 
erent language : 

"  Not  so  thought  Saint  Paul,  nor  yet  the  other 
Apostles ; 

Not  from  the  cannon's  mouth  were  the  tongues 
of  fire  they  spake  with  !  " 

But  unheeded  fell  this  mild  rebuke  on  the 
Captain, 

Who  had  advanced  to  the  table,  and  thus  con- 
tinued discoursing : 

"  Leave  this  matter  to  me,  for  to  me  by  right 
it  pertaineth. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  57 

War  is  a  terrible  trade ;  but  in  the  cause  that 
is  righteous, 

Sweet  is  the  smell  of  powder ;  and  thus  I  an- 
swer the  challenge !  " 

Then  from  the  rattlesnake's  skin,  with  a  sud- 
den, contemptuous  gesture, 

Jerking  the  Indian  arrows,  he  filled  it  with 
powder  and  bullets 

Full  to  the  very  jaws,  and  handed  it  back  to 
the  savage. 

Saying,  in  thundering  tones :  "  Here,  take  it ! 
this  is  your  answer  !  " 

Silently  out  of  the  room  then  glided  the  glis- 
tening savage, 

Bearing  the  serpent's  skin,  and  seeming  himself 
like  a  serpent. 

Winding  his  sinuous  way  in  the  dark  to  the 
depths  of  the  forest. 


V. 


THE    SAILING    OF   THE   MAY   FLOWER. 

JUST  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  the  mists  up- 
rose from  the  meadows, 

There  was  a  stir  and  a  sound  in  the  slumber- 
ing village  of  Plymouth ; 

Clanging  and  clicking  of  arms,  and  the  order 
imperative,  "  Forward  !  " 

Given  in  tone  suppressed,  a  tramp  of  feet,  and 
then  silence. 

Figures  ten,  in  the  mist,  marched  slowly  out 
of  the  village. 

Standish  the  stalwart  it  was,  with  eight  of  his 
valorous  army, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  59 

Led  by  their  Indian  guide,  by  Hobomok,  friend 
of  the  white  men. 

Northward  marching  to  quell  the  sudden  re- 
volt of  the  savage. 

Giants  they  seemed  in  the  mist,  or  the  mighty 
men  of  King  David ; 

Giants  in  heart  they  were,  who  believed  in  God 
and  the  Bible, — 

Ay,  who  believed  in  the  smiting  of  Midianites 
and  Philistines. 

Over  them  gleamed  far  off  the  crimson  banners 
of v morning ; 

Under  them  loud  on  the  sands,  the  serried  bil- 
lows, advancing, 

Fired  along  the  line,  and  in  regular  order  re- 
treated. 

Many  a  mile  had  they  marched,  when  at 

length  the  village  of  Plymouth 
Woke  from  its  sleep,  and  arose,  intent  on  its 
manifold  labors. 


60  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Sweet  was  the  air  and  soft;   and  slowly  the 

smoke  from  the  chimneys 
Rose  over  roofs  of  thatch,  and  pointed  steadily 

eastward ; 
Men  came  forth  from  the  doors,  and  paused 

and  talked  of  the  weather, 
Said  that  the  wind  had  changed,  and  was  blow- 
ing fair  for  the  May  Flower  ; 
Talked  of  their  Captain's  departure,  and   all 

the  dangers  that  menaced, 
He  being  gone,  the  town,  and  what  should  be 

done  in  his  absence. 
Merrily  sang  the  birds,  and  the  tender  voices 

of  women 
Consecrated  with  hymns  the  common  cares  of 

the  household. 
Out  of  the  sea  rose  the  sun,  and  the  billows 

rejoiced  at  his  coming ; 
Beautiful  were  his  feet  on  the  purple  tops  of 

the  mountains ; 


THE    COURTSHIP    OP   MILES    STANDISH.  61 

Beautiful  on  the  sails  of  the  May  Flower  riding 

at  anchor, 
Battered  and  blackened  and  worn  by  all  the 

storms  of  the  winter. 
Loosely  against  her  masts  was  hanging  and 

napping  her  canvas, 
Kent  by  so  many    gales,    and  patched  by  the 

hands  of  the  sailors. 
Suddenly  from  her  side,  as  the  sun  rose  over 

the  ocean, 
Darted  a  puff  of  smoke,  and  floated  seaward ; 

anon  rang 
Loud  over  field  and  forest  the  cannon's  roar, 

and  the  echoes 
Heard  and  repeated  the  sound,  the  signal-gun 

of  departure  ! 
Ah !  but  with  louder  echoes  replied  the  hearts 

of  the  people ! 
Meekly,  in  voices   subdued,  the  chapter  was 

read  from  the  Bible, 


62          THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Meekly  the   prayer  was  begun,  but  ended  in 

fervent  entreaty ! 
Then   from  their  houses  in  haste  came  forth 

the  Pilgrims  of  Plymouth, 
Men   and  women   and   children,  all  hurrying 

down  to  the  sea-shore. 
Eager,  with  tearful  eyes,  to  say  farewell  to  the 

May  Flower, 
Homeward  bound  o'er  the  sea,  and  leaving 

them  here  in  the  desert. 

Foremost  among  them  was  Alden.   All  night 

he  had  lain  without  slumber, 
Turning  and  tossing  about  in  the  heat  and 

unrest  of  his  fever. 
He  had  beheld  Miles  Standish,  who  came  back 

late  from  the  council, 
Stalking  into  the  room,  and  heard  him  mutter 

and  murmur, 
Sometimes  it  seemed  a  prayer,  and  sometimes 

it  sounded  like  swearing. 


THE    COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH.  63 

Once  he  had  come  to  the  bed,  and  stood  there 

a  moment  in  silence ; 
Then  he  had  turned  away,  and  said :  "  I  will 

not  awake  him ; 
Let  him  sleep  on,  it  is  best ;  for  what  is  the 

use  of  more  talking !  " 

Then  he  extinguished  the  light,  and  threw  him- 
self down  on  his  pallet, 
Dressed  as  he  was,  and  ready  to  start  at  the 

break  of  the  morning,  — 
Covered  himself  with  the  cloak  he  had  worn 

in  his  campaigns  in  Flanders,  — 
Slept  as  a  soldier  sleeps  in  his  bivouac,  ready 

for  action. 
But  with  the  dawn  he  arose;  in  the  twilight 

Alden  beheld  him 
Put  on  his  corslet  of  steel,  and  all  the  rest  of 

his  armor, 
Buckle   about  his  waist  his  trusty  blade   of 

Damascus, 


64  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Take  from  the  corner  his  musket,  and  so  stride 

out  of  the  chamber. 
Often  the  heart  of  the  youth  had  burned  and 

yearned  to  embrace  him, 
Often  his  lips  had  essayed  to  speak,  imploring 

for  pardon ; 

All  the  old  friendship  came  back,  with  its  ten- 
der and  grateful  emotions  ; 
But  his  pride  overmastered  the  nobler  nature 

within  him,  — 
Pride,  and  the  sense  of  his  wrong,  and  the 

burning  fire  of  the  insult. 
So  he  beheld  his  friend  departing  in  anger,  but 

spake  not, 
Saw  him  go  forth  to  danger,  perhaps  to  death, 

and  he  spake  not ! 
Then  he  arose  from  his  bed,  and  heard  what 

the  people  were  saying, 
Joined  in  the  talk  at  the  door,  with  Stephen 

and  Richard  and  Gilbert, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  65 

Joined  in  the  morning  prayer,  and  in  the  read- 
ing of  Scripture, 

And,  with  the  others,  in  haste  went  hurrying 
down  to  the  sea-shore, 

Down  to  the  Plymouth  Eock,  that  had  been  to 
their  feet  as  a  door-step 

Into  a  world  unknown,  —  the  corner-stone  of 
a  nation ! 

There  with  his  boat  was  the  Master,  already 
a  little  impatient 

Lest  he  should  lose  the  tide,  or  the  wind  might 
shift  to  the  eastward, 

Square-built,  hearty,  and  strong,  with  an  odor 
of  ocean  about  him, 

Speaking  with  this  one  and  that,  and  cramming 
letters  and  parcels 

Into  his  pockets  capacious,  and  messages  min- 
gled together 


66  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Into    his   narrow  brain,   till   at  last   he   was 

wholly  bewildered. 
Nearer  the  boat   stood  Alden,  with  one  foot 

placed  on  the  gunwale, 
One  still  firm  on  the  rock,  and  talking  at  times 

with  the  sailors, 
Seated  erect  on  the  thwarts,  all  ready  and  eager 

for  starting. 
He  too  was  eager  to  go,  and  thus  put  an  end 

to  his  anguish, 
Thinking  to  fly  from  despair,  that  swifter  than 

keel  is  or  canvas, 
Thinking  to  drown  in  the  sea  the  ghost  that 

would  rise  and  pursue  him. 
But  as  he  gazed  on  the  crowd,  he  beheld  the 

form  of  Priscilla 
Standing   dejected   among  them,  unconscious 

of  all  that  was  passing. 
Fixed  were  her  eyes  upon  his,  as  if  she  divined 

his  intention, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  67 

Fixed  with  a  look  so  sad,  so  reproachful,  im- 
ploring, and  patient, 

That  with  a  sudden  revulsion  his  heart  recoiled 
from  its  purpose, 

As  from  the  verge  of  a  crag,  where  one  step 
more  is  destruction. 

Strange  is  the  heart  of  man,  with  its  quick, 
mysterious  instincts  ! 

Strange  is  the  life  of  man,  and  fatal  or  fated 
are  moments, 

Whereupon  turn,  as  on  hinges,  the  gates  of  the 
wall  adamantine ! 

"  Here  I  remain  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  looked 
at  the  heavens  above  him, 

Thanking  the  Lord  whose  breath  had  scattered 
the  mist  and  the  madness, 

Wherein,  blind  and  lost,  to  death  he  was  stag- 
gering headlong. 

"  Yonder  snow-white  cloud,  that  floats  in  the 
ether  above  me, 


68  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Seems  like  a  hand  that  is  pointing  and  beckon- 
ing over  the  ocean. 

There  is  another  hand,  that  is  not  so  spectral 
and  ghost-like, 

Holding  me,  drawing  me  back,  and  clasping 
mine  for  protection. 

Float,  0  hand  of  cloud,  and  vanish  away  in  the 
ether ! 

Roll  thyself  up  like  a  fist,  to  threaten  and 
daunt  me ;  I  heed  not 

Either  your  warning  or  menace,  or  any  omen 
of  evil ! 

There  is  no  land  so  sacred,  no  air  so  pure  and 
so  wholesome, 

As  is  the  air  she  breathes,  and  the  soil  that  is 
pressed  by  her  footsteps. 

Here  for  her  sake  will  I  stay,  and  like  an  invis- 
ible presence 

Hover  around  her  for  ever,  protecting,  support- 
ing her  weakness ; 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  69 

Yes !  as  my  foot  was  the  first  that  stepped  on , 

this  rock  at  the  landing. 
So,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  shall  it  be  the 

last  at  the  leaving !  " 

Meanwhile  the  Master  alert,  but  with  dig- 
nified air  and  important, 

Scanning  with  watchful  eye  the  tide  and  the 
wind  and  the  weather, 

Walked  about  on  the  sands;  and  the  people 
crowded  around  him 

Saying  a  few  last  words,  and  enforcing  his 
careful  remembrance. 

Then,  taking  each  by  the  hand,  as  if  he  were 
grasping  a  tiller, 

Into  the  boat  he  sprang,  and  in  haste  shoved 
off  to  his  vessel, 

Glad  in  his  heart  to  get  rid  of  all  this  worry 
and  flurry, 

Glad  to  be  gone  from  a  land  of  sand  and  sick- 
ness and  sorrow. 


70  THE    COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Short  allowance  of  victual,  and  plenty  of  noth- 
ing but  Gospel! 

Lost  in  the  sound  of  the  oars  was  the  last  fare- 
well of  the  Pilgrims. 

0  strong  hearts  and  true !  not  one  went  back 
in  the  May  Flower  ! 

No,  not  one  looked  back,  who  had  set  his  hand 
to  this  ploughing ! 

Soon  were  heard  on  board  the  shouts  and 

songs  of  the  sailors 
Heaving  the  windlass  round,  and  hoisting  the 

ponderous  anchor. 
Then  the  yards  were  braced,  and  all  sails  set 

to  the  west-wind, 
Blowing    steady   and   strong  ;    and   the   May 

Flower  sailed  from  the  harbor, 
Rounded  the  point  of  the  Gurnet,  and  leaving 

far  to  the  southward 
Island  and  cape  of  sand,  and  the  Field  of  the 

First  Encounter, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  71 

Took  the  wind  on  her  quarter,  and  stood  for 

the  open  Atlantic, 
Borne  on  the  send  of  the  sea,  and  the  swelling 

hearts  of  the  Pilgrims. 

Long  in  silence  they  watched  the  receding 

sail  of  the  vessel, 
Much  endeared  to  them  all,  as  something  living 

and  human ; 
Then,  as  if  filled  with  the  spirit,  and  wrapt  in 

a  vision  prophetic, 
Baring  his  hoary  head,  the  excellent  Elder  of 

Plymouth 
Said,  "  Let  us  pray ! "  and  they  prayed,  and 

thanked  the  Lord  and  took  courage. 
Mournfully  sobbed  the  waves  at  the  base  of  the 

rock,  and  above  them 
Bowed  and  whispered  the  wheat  on  the  hill  of 

death,  and  their  kindred 
Seemed  to  awake  in  their  graves,  and  to  join 

in  the  prayer  that  they  uttered. 


72  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Sun-illumined  and  white,  on  the  eastern  verge 

of  the  ocean 
Gleamed  the  departing  sail,  like  a  marble  slab 

in  a  graveyard ; 

Buried  beneath  it  lay  for  ever  all  hope  of  es- 
caping. 
Lo !  as  they  turned  to   depart,  they  saw  the 

form  of  an  Indian, 
Watching  them  from  the  hill ;  but  while  they 

spake  with  each  other, 
Pointing  with  outstretched  hands,  and  saying, 

"  Look !  "  he  had  vanished. 
So  they  returned  to  their  homes ;    but  Alden 

lingered  a  little, 
Musing  alone  on  the  shore,  and  watching  the 

.  wash  of  the  billows 
Kound  the  base  of  the  rock,  and  the  sparkle 

and  flash  of  the  sunshine, 
Like  the  spirit  of  God,  moving  visibly  over 

the  waters. 


73 


VI. 

PHIS  GILL  A. 

THUS  for  a  while  he  stood,  and  mused  by  the 

shore  of  the  ocean, 
Thinking  of  many  things,  and  most  of  all  of 

Priscilla ; 
And  as  if  thought  had  the  power  to  draw  to 

itself,  like  the  loadstone, 
Whatsoever  it  touches,  by  subtile  laws  of  its 

nature, 
Lo !    as  he  turned  to   depart,  Priscilla  was 

standing  beside  him. 

"  Are  you  so  much  offended,  you  will  not 
speak  to  me  ?  "  said  she. 


74  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

"  Am  I  so  much  to  blame,  that  yesterday,  when 

you  were  pleading 

Warmly  the  cause  of  another,  my  heart,  impul- 
sive and  wayward, 
Pleaded  your  own,  and   spake  out,  forgetful 

perhaps  of  decorum  ? 
Certainly  you  can  forgive  me  for  speaking  so 

frankly,  for  saying 
What  I  ought  not  to  have  said,  yet  now  I  can 

never  unsay  it ; 
For  there  are  moments  in  life,  when  the  heart 

is  so  full  of  emotion, 
That  if  by  chance  it  be  shaken,  or  into  its 

depths  like  a  pebble 
Drops  soine  careless  word,  it  overflows,  and  its 

secret, 
Spilt  on  the  ground  like  water,  can  never  be 

gathered  together. 
Yesterday  I  was  shocked,  when  I  heard  you 

speak  of  Miles  Standish, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  75 

Praising  his  virtues,  transforming  his  very  de- 
fects into  virtues. 

Praising  his  courage  and  strength,  and  even 
his  fighting  in  Flanders, 

As  if  by  fighting  alone  you  could  win  the  heart 
of  a  woman, 

Quite  overlooking  yourself  and  the  rest,  in  ex- 
alting your  hero. 

Therefore  I  spake  as  I  did,  by  an  irresistible 
impulse. 

You  will  forgive  me,  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of 
the  friendship  between  us, 

Which  is  too  true  and  too  sacred  to  be  so  easily 
broken !  " 

Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  scholar, 
the  friend  of  Miles  Standish  : 

"  I  was  not  angry  with  you,  with  myself  alone 
I  was  angry, 

Seeing  how  badly  I  managed  the  matter  I  had 
in  my  keeping." 


76  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

"  No !  "  interrupted  the  maiden,  with  answer 

prompt  and  decisive ; 
"  No ;  you  were  angry  with  me,  for  speaking 

so  frankly  and  freely. 
It  was  wrong,  I  acknowledge  ;  for  it  is  the  fate 

of  a  woman 
Long  to  be  patient  and  silent,  to  wait  like  a 

ghost  that  is  speechless, 
Till  some  questioning  voice  dissolves  the  spell 

of  its  silence. 
Hence  is  the  inner  life  of  so  many  suffering 

women 
Sunless  and  silent  and  deep,  like  subterranean 

rivers 
Running  through  caverns  of  darkness,  unheard, 

unseen,  and  unfruitful, 
Chafing  their  channels  of  stone,  with  endless 

and  profitless  murmurs." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  young 

man,  the  lover  of  women: 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  77 

"  Heaven  forbid  it,  Priscilla;  and  truly  they 
seem  to  me  always 

More  like  the  beautiful  rivers  that  watered  the 
garden  of  Eden, 

More  like  the  river  Euphrates,  through  deserts 
of  Havilah  flowing, 

Filling  the  land  with  delight,  and  memories 
sweet  of  the  garden !  " 

"  Ah,  by  these  words,  I  can  see,"  again  inter- 
rupted the  maiden, 

"  How  very  little  you  prize  me,  or  care  for 
what  I  am  saying. 

When  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  in  pain 
and  with  secret  misgiving, 

Frankly  I  speak  to  you,  asking  for  sympathy 
only  and  kindness, 

Straightway  you  take  up  my  words,  that  are 
plain  and  direct  and  in  earnest, 

Turn  them  away  from  their  meaning,  and  an- 
swer with  flattering  phrases. 


78  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

This  is  not  right,  is  not  just,  is  not  true  to  the 
best  that  is  in  you  ; 

For  I  know  and  esteem  you,  and  feel  that  your 
nature  is  noble, 

Lifting  mine  up  to  a  higher,  a  more  ethereal 
level. 

Therefore  I  value  your  friendship,  and  feel  it 
perhaps  the  more  keenly 

If  you  say  aught  that  implies  I  am  only  as 
one  among  many, 

If  you  make  use  of  those  common  and  compli- 
mentary phrases 

Most  men  think  so  fine,  in  dealing  and  speak- 
ing with  women, 

But  which  women  reject  as  insipid,  if  not  as 
insulting." 

Mute  and  amazed  was  Alden ;  and  listened 

and  looked  at  Priscilla, 

Thinking  he  never  had  seen  her  more  fair,  more 
divine  in  her  beauty. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  79 

He  who  but  yesterday  pleaded  so  glibly  the 
cause  of  another, 

Stood  there  embarrassed  and  silent,  and  seek- 
ing in  vain  for  an  answer. 

So  the  maiden  went  on,  and  little  divined  or 
imagined 

What  was  at  work  in  his  heart,  that  made  him 
so  awkward  and  speechless. 

"  Let  us,  then,  be  what  we  are,  and  speak  what 
we  think,  and  in  all  things 

Keep  ourselves  loyal  to  truth,  and  the  sacred 
professions  of  friendship. 

It  is  no  secret  I  tell  you,  nor  am  I  ashamed  to 
declare  it : 

I  have  liked  to  be  with  you,  to  see  you,  to 
speak  with  you  always. 

So  I  was  hurt  at  your  words,  and  a  little  af- 
fronted to  hear  you 

Urge  me  to  marry  your  friend,  though  he  were 
the  Captain  Miles  Standish. 


80  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

For  I  must  tell  you  the  truth :  much  more  to 

me  is  your  friendship 
Than  all  the  love  he  could  give,  were  he  twice 

the  hero  you  think  him." 
Then  she  extended  her  hand,  and  Alden,  who 

eagerly  grasped  it, 
Pelt  all  the  wounds   in  his  heart,  that  were 

aching  and  bleeding  so  sorely, 
Healed  by  the  touch  of  that  hand,  and  he  said, 

with  a  voice  full  of  feeling : 
"  Yes,  we  must  ever  be  friends  ;  and  of  all  who 

offer  you  friendship 
Let  me  be  ever  the  first,  the  truest,  the  nearest 

and  dearest ! " 

Casting   a   farewell  look  at  the  glimmering 

sail  of  the  May  Flower, 
Distant,  but  still  in  sight,  and  sinking  below 

the  horizon, 
Homeward  together  they  walked,  with  a  strange, 

indefinite  feeling, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  81 

That  all  the  rest  had  departed  and  left  them 

alone  in  the  desert. 
But,  as  they  went  through  the  fields  in  the 

blessing  and  smile  of  the  sunshine, 
Lighter  grew  their  hearts,  and  Priscilla  said 

very  archly  : 
"  Now  that  our  terrible  Captain  has  gone  in 

pursuit  of  the  Indians, 
Where  he  is  happier  far  than  he  would  be 

commanding  a  household, 
You  may  speak  boldly,  and  tell  me  of  all  that 

happened  between  you, 
Whe.n  you  returned  last  night,  and  said  how 

ungrateful  you  found  me." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  and  told  her 

the  whole  of  the  story,  — 
Told  her  his  own  despair,  and  the  direful  wrath 

of  Miles  Standish. 
Whereat  the  maiden  smiled,  and  said  between 

laughing  and  earnest, 


82  THE    COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

"  He  is  a  little  chimney,  and  heated  hot  in  a 

moment! " 
But  as  he  gently  rebuked  her,  and  told  her  how 

much  he  had  suffered,  — 
How  he  had  even  determined  to  sail  that  day 

in  the  May  Flower, 
And  had  remained  for  her  sake,  on  hearing  the 

dangers  that  threatened,  — 
All  her  manner  was  changed,  and  she  said  with 

a  faltering  accent, 
"  Truly  I  thank  you  for  this :  how  good  you 

have  been  to  me  always  ! " 

Thus,  as  a  pilgrim  devout,  who  toward  Jeru- 
salem journeys, 

Taking  three  steps  in  advance,  and  one  reluc- 
tantly backward, 

Urged  by  importunate  zeal,  and  withheld  by 
pangs  of  contrition ; 

Slowly  but  steadily  onward,  receding  yet  ever 
advancing, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  83 

Journeyed  this  Puritan  youth  to  the  Holy  Land 

of  his  longings. 
Urged  by  the  fervor  of  love,  and  withheld  by 

remorseful  misgivings. 


84 


VII. 

THE   MARCH    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

MEANWHILE  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish  was 
marching  steadily  northward. 

Winding  through  forest  and  swamp,  and  along 
the  trend  of  the  sea-shore, 

All  day  long,  with  hardly  a  halt,  the  fire  of  his 
anger 

Burning  and  crackling  within,  and  the  sul- 
phurous odor  of  powder 

Seeming  more  sweet  to  his  nostrils  than  all 
the  scents  of  the  forest. 

Silent  and  moody  he  went,  and  much  he  re- 
volved his  discomfort ; 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  85 

He  who  was  used  to  success,  and  to  easy  vic- 
tories always. 

Thus  to  be  flouted,  rejected,  and  laughed  to 
scorn  by  a  maiden, 

Thus  to  be  mocked  and  betrayed  by  the  friend 
whom  most  he  had  trusted ! 

Ah !  'twas  too  much  to  be  borne,  and  he  fret- 
ted and  chafed  in  his  armor ! 

"  I  alone  am  to  blame,"  he  muttered,  "  for 
mine  was  the  folly. 

What  has  a  rough  old  soldier,  grown  grim  and 
gray  in  the  harness. 

Used  to  the  camp  and  its  ways,  to  do  with  the 
wooing  of  maidens  ? 

'T  was  but  a  dream,  —  let  it  pass,  —  let  it  van- 
ish like  so  many  others ! 

What  I  thought  was  a  flower,  is  only  a  weed, 
and  is  worthless  ; 

Out  of  my  heart  will  I  pluck  it,  and  throw  it 
away,  and  henceforward 


86  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Be  but  a  fighter  of  battles,  a  lover  and  wooer 

of  dangers ! " 
Thus  he  revolved  in  his  mind  his  sorry  defeat 

and  discomfort, 
While  he  was  marching   by  day  or   lying   at 

night  in  the  forest, 
Looking  up  at  the  trees,  and  the  constellations 

beyond  them. 

After  a  three  days'  march  he  came  to  an  In- 
dian encampment 

Pitched  on  the  edge  of  a  meadow,  between  the 
sea  and  the  forest ; 

Women  at  work  by  the  tents,  and  the  warriors, 
horrid  with  war-paint, 

Seated  about  a  fire,  and  smoking  and  talking 
together ; 

Who,  when  they  saw  from  afar  the  sudden  ap- 
proach of  the  white  men, 

Saw  the  flash  of  the  sun  on  breastplate  and 
sabre  and  musket, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  87 

Straightway  leaped  to  their  feet,  and  two,  from 

among  them  advancing, 
Came  to  parley  with  Standish,  and  offer  him 

furs  as  a  present ; 
Friendship  was   in   their  looks,  but  in   their 

hearts  there  was  hatred. 
Braves  of  the  tribe   were  these,  and  brothers 

gigantic  in  stature, 
Huge  as  Goliath  of  Gath,  or  the  terrible  Og, 

king  of  Bash  an  ; 
One  was  Pecksuot  named,  and  the  other  was 

called  Wattawamat. 
Eound  their  necks  were  suspended  their  knives 

in  scabbards  of  wampum, 
Two-edged,  trenchant  knives,  with  points  as 

sharp  as  a  needle. 

Other  arms  had  they  none,  for  they  were  cun- 
ning and  crafty. 
"  Welcome,  English !  "  they  said,  —  these  words 

they  had  learned  from  the  traders 


88  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Touching  at  times  on  the  coast,  to  barter  and 

chaffer  for  peltries. 

Then  in  their  native  tongue  they  began  to  par- 
ley with  Stan  dish, 
Through  his  guide  and  interpreter,  Hobomok, 

friend  of  the  white  man, 
Begging  for  blankets  and  knives,  but  mostly 

for  muskets  and  powder, 
Kept  by  the  white  man,  they  said,  concealed, 

with  the  plague,  in  his  cellars, 
Ready  to  be  let  loose,  and  destroy  his  brother 

the  red  man ! 
But  when  Stan  dish  refused,  and  said  he  would 

give  them  the  Bible, 
Suddenly  changing  their  tone,  they  began  to 

boast  and  to  bluster. 
Then  Wattawamat  advanced  with  a  stride  in 

front  of  the  other, 
And,  with  a  lofty  demeanor,  thus  vauntingly 

spake  to  the  Captain : 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  89 

"Now  Wattawamat  can  see,  by  the  fiery  eyes 
of  the  Captain, 

Angry  is  he  in  his  heart ;    but  the   heart  of 
the  brave  Wattawamat 

Is  not  afraid  at  the  sight.     He  was  not  born 
of  a  woman, 

But  on  a  mountain,  at  night,  from  an  oak-tree 
riven  by  lightning, 

Forth  he  sprang  at  a  bound,  with  all  his  weap- 
ons about  him, 

Shouting,  '  Who  is  there  here  to  fight  with  the 
brave  Wattawamat  ? ' " 

Then  he  unsheathed  his  knife,  and,  whetting 
the  blade  on  his  left  hand, 

Held  it  aloft  and  displayed  a  woman's  face  011 
the  handle, 

Saying,  with  bitter  expression  and  look  of  sin- 
ister meaning : 

"  I  have  another  at  home,  with  the  face  of  a 
man  on  the  handle ; 


90          THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

By  and  by  they  shall  marry;  and  there  will 
be  plenty  of  children !  " 

Then  stood  Pecksuot  forth,  self-vaunting,  in- 
sulting Miles  Standish : 

While  with  his  fingers  he  patted  the  knife  that 
hung  at  his  bosom. 

Drawing  it  half  from  its  sheath,  and  plunging 
it  back,  as  he  muttered, 

"  By  and  by  it  shall  see  ;  it  shall  eat ;  ah,  ha! 
but  shall  speak  not ! 

This  is  the  mighty  Captain  the  white  men  have 
sent  to  destroy  us ! 

He  is  a  little  man ;  let  him  go  and  work  with 
the  women !  " 

Meanwhile  Standish  had  noted  the  faces  and 

figures  of  Indians 

Peeping  and  creeping  about  from  bush  to  tree 
in  the  forest, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  91 

* 

Feigning  to  look  for  game,  with  arrows  set  on 

their  bow-strings, 
Drawing  about  him  still  closer  and  closer  the 

net  of  their  ambush. 
But  undaunted  he  stood,  and  dissembled  and 

treated  them  smoothly ; 
So  the  old  chronicles  say,  that  were  writ  in  the 

days  of  the  fathers. 
But  when  he  heard  their  defiance,  the  boast, 

the  taunt,  and  the  insult, 
All  the  hot  blood  of  his  race,  of  Sir  Hugh  and 

of  Thurston  de  Standish, 
Boiled  and  beat  in  his  heart,  and  swelled  in 

the  veins  of  his  temples. 
Headlong    he    leaped    on    the    boaster,   and, 

snatching  his  knife  from  its  scabbard, 
Plunged  it   into  his  heart,  and,  reeling  back- 
ward, the  savage 
Fell  with  his  face  to  the  sky,  and  a  fiendlike 

fierceness  upon  it. 


92  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

H 

Straight  there  arose  from  the  forest  the  awful 

sound  of  the  war- whoop, 
And,  like  a  flurry  of  snow  on   the  whistling 

wind  of  December, 
Swift  and  sudden  and  keen  came  a  flight  of 

feathery  arrows. 
Then  came  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  out  of  the 

cloud  came  the  lightning, 
Out  of  the  lightning  thunder ;  and  death  un- 
seen ran  before  it. 
Frightened    the    savages    fled    for  shelter  in 

swamp  and  in  thicket, 
Hotly  pursued   and   beset ;  but  their  sachem, 

the  brave  Wattawamat, 
Fled  not ;  he  was  dead.    Unswerving  and  swift 

had  a  bullet 
Passed  through  his  -brain,  and  he  fell  with  both 

hands  clutching  the  greensward, 
Seeming  in  death  to  hold  back  from  his  foe  the 

land  of  his  fathers. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  93 

There  on  the  flowers  of  the  meadow  the  war- 
riors lay,  and  above  them, 

Silent,  with  folded  arms,  stood  Hobomok, 
friend  of  the  white  man. 

Smiling  at  length  he  exclaimed  to  the  stalwart 
Captain  of  Plymouth  : 

"  Pecksuot  bragged  very  loud,  of  his  courage, 
his  strength,  and  his  stature,  — 

Mocked  the  great  Captain,  and  called  him  a 
little  man  ;  but  I  see  now 

Big  enough  have  you  been  to  lay  him  speech- 
less before  you ! " 

Thus  the  first  battle  was  fought  and  won 

by  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish. 
When  the  tidings  thereof  were  brought  to  the 

village  of  Plymouth, 
And  as  a  trophy  of  war  the  head  of  the  brave 

Wattawamat 
Scowled  from  the  roof  of  the  fort,  which  at 

once  was  a  church  and  a  fortress, 


94  THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

All  who  beheld  it  rejoiced,  and  praised  the 

Lord,  and  took  courage. 
Only  Priscilla  averted  her  face  from  this  spectre 

of  terror, 
Thanking  God  in  her  heart  that  she  had  not 

married  Miles  Standish ; 
Shrinking,  fearing  almost,  lest,  coming  home 

from  his  battles, 
He  should  lay  claim  to  her  hand,  as  the  prize 

and  reward  of  his  valor. 


95 


VIII. 

THE    SPINNING-WHEEL. 

MONTH  after  month  passed  away,  and  in  Au- 
tumn the  ships  of  the  merchants 

Came  with  kindred  and  friends,  with  cattle 
and  corn  for  the  Pilgrims. 

All  in  the  village  was  peace  ;  the  men  were 
intent  on  their  labors, 

Busy  with  hewing  and  building,  with  garden- 
plot  and  with  merestead, 

Busy  with  breaking  the  glebe,  and  mowing  the 
grass  in  the  meadows, 

Searching  the  sea  for  its  fish,  and  hunting  the 
deer  in  the  forest. 


96  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

All  in  the  village  was  peace  ;  but  at  times  the 
rumor  of  warfare 

Pilled  the  air  with  alarm,  and  the  apprehen- 
sion of  danger. 

Bravely  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish  was  scour- 
ing the  land  with  his  forces, 

Waxing  valiant  in  fight  and  defeating  the  alien 
armies, 

Till  his  name  had  become  a  sound  of  fear  to 
the  nations. 

Anger  was  still  in  his  heart,  but  at  times  the 
remorse  and  contrition 

Which  in  all  noble  natures  succeed  the  pas- 
sionate outbreak, 

Came  like  a  rising  tide,  that  encounters  the 
rush  of  a  river, 

Staying  its  current  awhile,  but  making  it  bitter 
and  brackish. 

Meanwhile  Alden  at  home  had  built  him  a 
new  habitation, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.  97 

Solid,  substantial,  of  timber  rough-hewn  from 

the  firs  of  the  forest. 
Wooden-barred  was  the  door,  and  the  roof  was 

covered  with  rushes  ; 

Latticed  the  windows   were,  and  the  window- 
panes  were  of  paper, 
Oiled  to  admit  the  light,  while  wind  and  rain 

were  excluded. 
There  too  he  dug  a  well,  and  around  it  planted 

an  orchard : 
Still  may  be  seen  to  this  day  some  trace  of  the 

well  and  the  orchard. 
Close  to  the  house  was  the  stall,  where,  safe 

and  secure  from  annoyance, 
Raghorn,  the  snow-white  steer,  that  had  fallen 

to  Alden's  allotment 
In  the  division  of  cattle,  might  ruminate  in  the 

night-time 
Over  the  pastures  he  cropped,  made  fragrant 

by  sweet  pennyroyal. 


98  THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Oft  when  his  labor  was  finished,  with  eager 
feet  would  the  dreamer 

Follow  the  pathway  that1  ran  through  the  woods 
to  the  house  of  Priscilla, 

Led  by  illusions  romantic  and  subtile  decep- 
tions of  fancy. 

Pleasure  disguised  as  duty,  and  love  in  the 
semblance  of  friendship. 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  fashioned 
the  walls  of  his  dwelling ; 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  delved  in 
the  soil  of  his  garden ; 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  read  in  his 
Bible  on  Sunday 

Praise  of  the  virtuous  woman,  as  she  is  de- 
scribed in  the  Proverbs,  — 

How  the  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely  trust 
in  her  always, 

How  all  the  days  of  her  life  she  will  do  him 
good,  and  not  evil, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.  99 

How  she  seeketh   the  wool  and   the  flax  and 

worketh  with  gladness, 
How  she  layeth  her  hand  to  the  spindle  and 

holdeth  the  distaff. 
How  she  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  herself 

or  her  household, 
Knowing  her  household  are  clothed  with  the 

scarlet  cloth  of  her  weaving ! 

So  as  she  sat  at  her  wheel  one  afternoon  in 
the  Autumn, 

Alden,  who  opposite  sat,  and  was  watching  her 
dexterous  fingers, 

As  if  the  thread  she  was  spinning  were  that 
of  his  life  and  his  fortune, 

After  a  pause  in  their  talk,  thus  spake  to  the 
sound  of  the  spindle. 

"Truly,  Priscilla,"  he  said,  "when  I  see  you 
spinning  and  spinning, 

Never  idle  a  moment,  but  thrifty  and  thought- 
ful of  others, 


100         THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Suddenly   you    are    transformed,   are    visibly 

changed  in  a  moment ; 
You  are  no  longer   Priscilla,  but   Bertha  the 

Beautiful  Spinner." 
Here  the  light  foot  on  the  treadle  grew  swifter 

and  swifter ;  the  spindle 
Uttered  an  angry  snarl,  and  the  thread  snapped 

short  in  her  fingers  ; 
While  the  impetuous  speaker,  not  heeding  the 

mischief,  continued : 
"  You  are  the  beautiful  Bertha,  the  spinner, 

the  queen  of  Helvetia ; 
She  whose  story  I  read  at  a  stall  in  the  streets 

of  Southampton, 
Who,  as  she  rode  on  her  palfrey,  o'er  valley 

and  meadow  and  mountain, 
Ever  was  spinning  her  thread  from   a  distaif 

fixed  to  her  saddle. 
She  was  so  thrifty  and  good,  that  her  name 

passed  into  a  proverb. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.         101 

So  shall  it  be  with  your  own,  when  the  spin- 
ning-wheel shall  no  longer 

Hum  in  the  house  of  the  farmer,  and  fill  its 
chambers  with  music. 

Then  shall  the  mothers,  reproving,  relate  how 
it  was  in  their  childhood, 

Praising  the  good  old  times,  and  the  days  of 
Priscilla  the  spinner  !  " 

Straight  uprose  from  her  wheel  the  beautiful 
Puritan  maiden, 

Pleased  with  the  praise  of  her  thrift  from  him 
whose  praise  was  the  sweetest, 

Drew  from  the  reel  on  the  table  a  snowy  skein, 
of  her  spinning, 

Thus  making  answer,  meanwhile,  to  the  natter- 
ing phrases  of  Alden : 

"  Come,  you  must  not  be  idle ;  if  I  am  a 
pattern  for  housewives, 

Show  yourself  equally  worthy  of  being  the 
model  of  husbands. 


102         THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Hold  this  skein  on  your  hands,  while  I  wind  it, 
ready  for  knitting ; 

Then  who  knows  but  hereafter,  when  fashions 
have  changed  and  the  manners, 

Fathers  may  talk  to  their  sons  of  the  good  old 
times  of  John  Alden  !  " 

Thus,  with  a  jest  and  a  laugh,  the  skein  on 
his  hands  she  adjusted, 

He  sitting  awkwardly  there,  with  his  arms  ex- 
tended before  him, 

She  standing  graceful,  erect,  and  winding  the 
thread  from  his  fingers, 

Sometimes  chiding  a  little  his  clumsy  man- 
ner of  holding, 

Sometimes  touching  his  hands,  as  she  disentan- 
gled expertly 

Twist  or  knot  in  the  yarn,  unawares  —  for  how 
could  she  help  it  ?  — 

Sending  electrical  thrills  through  every  nerve 
in  his  body. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.          103 

Lo !  in  the  midst  of  this  scene,  a  breathless 
messenger  entered, 

Bringing  in  hurry  and  heat  the  terrible  news 
from  the  village. 

Yes  ;  Miles  Standish  was  dead  !  —  an  Indian 
had  brought  them  the  tidings,  — 

Slain  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  shot  down  in  the 
front  of  the  battle, 

Into  an  ambush  beguiled,  cut  off  with  the 
whole  of  his  forces  ; 

All  the  town  would  be  burned,  and  all  the  peo- 
ple be  murdered  ! 

Such  were  the  tidings  of  evil  that  burst  on  the 
hearts  of  the  hearers. 

Silent  and  statue-like  stood  Priscilla,  her  face 
looking  backward 

Still  at  the  face  of  the  speaker,  her  arms  up- 
lifted in  horror ; 

But  John  Alden,  upstarting,  as  if  the  barb  of 
the  arrow 


104        THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Piercing  the  heart  of  his  friend  had  struck  his 

own,  and  had  sundered 
Once  and  for  ever  the  bonds  that  held   him. 

bound  as  a  captive, 
Wild  with  excess  of  sensation,  the  awful  delight 

of  his  freedom, 
Mingled  with  pain  and  regret,  unconscious  of 

what  he  was  doing, 
Clasped,  almost  with  a  groan,  the  motionless 

form  of  Priscilla, 
Pressing  her  close  to  his  heart,  as  for  ever  his 

own,  and  exclaiming : 
"  Those  whom  the   Lord  hath  united,  let  no 

man  put  them  asunder  !  " 

Even   as  rivulets   twain,  from   distant   and 

separate  sources, 
Seeing  each  other  afar,  as  they  leap  from  the 

rocks,  and  pursuing 
Each  one  its  devious  path,  but  drawing  nearer 

and  nearer, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.         105 

Rush  together  at  last,  at  their  try  sting-place  in 

the  forest ; 
So  these  lives  that  had  run  thus  far  in  separate 

channels. 
Coming  in  sight  of  each  other,  then  swerving 

and  flowing  asunder, 
Parted  by  barriers  strong,  but  drawing  nearer 

and  nearer, 
Rushed  together  at  last,  and  one  was  lost  in  the 

other. 


106 


IX. 

THE    WEDDING-DAY. 

FORTH  from  the  curtain   of  clouds,  from  the 

tent  of  purple  and  scarlet. 
Issued  the  sun,  the  great  High-Priest,  in  his 

garments  resplendent, 
Holiness  unto  the  Lord,  in  letters  of  light,  on 

his  forehead, 
Round  the  hem  of  his  robe  the  golden  bells  and 

pomegranates. 
Blessing  the  world  he  came,  and  the  bars  of 

vapor  beneath  him 
Gleamed  like  a  grate  of  brass,  and  the  sea  at 

his  feet  was  a  laver  ! 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.         107 

This  was  the  wedding  morn  of  Priscilla  the 
Puritan  maiden. 

Friends  were  assembled  together ;  the  Elder 
and  Magistrate  also 

Graced  the  scene  with  their  presence,  and  stood 
like  the  Law  and  the  Gospel, 

One  with  the  sanction  of  earth  and  one  with 
the  blessing  of  heaven. 

Simple  and  brief  was  the  wedding,  as  that  of 
Euth  and  of  Boaz. 

Softly  the  youth  and  the  maiden  repeated  the 
words  of  betrothal, 

Taking  each  other  for  husband  and  wife  in  the 
Magistrate's  presence, 

After  the  Puritan  way,  and  the  laudable  cus- 
tom of  Holland. 

Fervently  then,  and  devoutly,  the  excellent  El- 
der of  Plymouth 

Prayed  for  the  hearth  and  the  home^  that  were 
founded  that  day  in  affection, 


108        THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH 

Speaking  of  life  and  of  death,  and  imploring 
divine  benedictions. 

Lo !  when  the  service  was  ended,  a  form 
appeared  on  the  threshold, 

Clad  in  armor  of  steel,  a  sombre  and  sorrowful 
figure  ! 

Why  does  the  bridegroom  start  and  stare  at 
the  strange  apparition  ? 

Why  does  the  bride  turn  pale,  and  hide  her 
face  on  his  shoulder  ? 

Is  it  a  phantom  of  air,  —  a  bodiless,  spectral 
illusion  ? 

Is  it  a  ghost  from  the  grave,  that  has  come  to 
forbid  the  betrothal  ? 

Long  had  it  stood  there  unseen,  a  guest  un- 
invited, unwelcome  d ; 

Over  its  clouded  eyes  there  had  passed  at  times 
an  expression 

Softening  the  gloom  and  revealing  the  warm 
heart  hidden  beneath  them, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.        109 

As  when  across  the  sky  the  driving  rack  of  the 

rain-cloud 
Grows  for  a  moment  thin,  and  betrays  the  sun 

by  its  brightness. 
Once  it  had  lifted  its  hand,  and  moved  its  lips, 

but  was  silent, 
As  if  an  iron  will  had  mastered  the  fleeting 

intention. 
But  when  were  ended  the  troth  and  the  prayer 

and  the  last  benediction, 
Into  the  room  it  strode,  and  the  people  beheld 

with  amazement 
Bodily  there  in  his  armor  Miles  Standish,  the 

Captain  of  Plymouth ! 
Grasping  the  bridegroom's  hand,  he  said  with 

emotion,  "  Forgive  me ! 
I  have  been  angry  and  hurt,  —  too  long  have  I 

cherished  the  feeling  ; 
I  have  been  cruel  and  hard,  but  now,  thank 

God  !  it  is  ended. 


110         THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH. 

Mine  is  the  same  hot  blood  that  leaped  in  the 
veins  of  Hugh  Staiidish, 

Sensitive,  swift  to  resent,  but  as  swift  in  aton- 
ing for  error. 

Never  so  much  as  now  was  Miles  Standish  the 
friend  of  John  Alden." 

Thereupon  answered  the  bridegroom :  "  Let 
all  be  forgotten  between  us,  — 

All  save  the  dear,  old  friendship,  and  that  shall 
grow  older  and  dearer!  " 

Then  the  Captain  advanced,  and,  bowing,  sa- 
luted Priscilla, 

Gravely,  and  after  the  manner  of  old-fashioned 
gentry  in  England, 

Something  of  camp  and  of  court,  of  town  and 
of  country,  commingled, 

Wishing  her  joy  of  her  wedding,  and  loudly 
lauding  her  husband. 

Then  he  said  with  a  smile :  "I  should  have 
remembered  the  adage, — 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MILES    STANDISH.         Ill 

If  you  would  be  well  served,  you  must  serve 
yourself ;  and  moreover, 

No  man  can  gather  cherries  in  Kent  at  the  sea- 
son of  Christmas ! " 

Great  was  the  people's  amazement,  and 
greater  yet  their  rejoicing, 

Thus  to  behold  once  more  the  sun-burnt  face 
of  their  Captain, 

Whom  they  had  mourned  as  dead;  and  they 
gathered  and  crowded  about  him, 

Eager  to  see  him  and  hear  him,  forgetful  of 
bride  and  of  bridegroom, 

Questioning,  answering,  laughing,  and  each 
interrupting  the  other, 

Till  the  good  Captain  declared,  being  quite 
overpowered  and  bewildered, 

He  had  rather  by  far  break  into  an  Indian  en- 
campment, 

Than  come  again  to  a  wedding  to  which  he 
had  not  been  invited. 


112        THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Meanwhile  the   bridegroom  went  forth  and 

stood  with  the  bride  at  the  doorway, 
Breathing  the  perfumed  air  of  that  warm  and 

beautiful  morning. 
Touched  with  autumnal  tints,  but  lonely  and 

sad  in  the  sunshine. 
Lay  extended  before  them  the  land  of  toil  and 

privation ; 
There  were  the  graves  of  the  dead,  and   the 

barren  waste  of  the  sea-shore, 
There  the  familiar  fields,  the  groves  of  pine, 

and  the  meadows ; 
But  to  their  eyes  transfigured,  it  seemed  as  the 

Garden  of  Eden, 
Filled  with  the  presence  of  God,  whose  voice 

was  the  sound  of  the  ocean. 

Soon  was  their  vision  disturbed  by  the  noise 

and  stir  of  departure, 

Friends  coming  forth  from  the  house,  and  im- 
patient of  longer  delaying. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.         113 

Each  with  his  plan  for  the  day,  and  the  work 

that  was  left  uncompleted. 
Then  from  a  stall  near  at  hand,  amid  exclama- 
tions of  wonder, 
Alden  the  thoughtful,  the  careful,  so   happy, 

so  proud  of  Priscilla, 
Brought  out  his  snow-white  steer,  obeying  the 

hand  of  its  master, 
Led  by  a  cord  that  was  tied  to   an  iron   ring 

in  its  nostrils, 
Covered  with   crimson   cloth,   and   a  cushion 

placed  for  a  saddle. 
She  should  not  walk,  he  said,  through  the  dust 

and  heat  of  the  noonday ; 
Nay,  she  should  ride  like   a  queen,  not  plod 

along  like  a  peasant. 
Somewhat  alarmed  at  first,  but  reassured  by 

the  others, 
Placing  her  hand  on  the  cushion,  her  foot  in 

the  hand  of  her  husband, 

8 


114        THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

Gayly,  with  joyous  laugh,  Priscilla  mounted 

her  palfrey. 
"  Nothing  is  wanting  now,"   he   said  with   a 

smile,  "  but  the  distaff; 
Then  you  would  be  in  truth  my  queen,  my 

beautiful  Bertha ! " 

Onward  the  bridal  procession  now  moved  to 

their  new  habitation, 

Happy  husband  and  wife,  and  friends  convers- 
ing together. 
Pleasantly  murmured  the  brook,  as  they  crossed 

the  ford  in  the  forest, 
Pleased  with  the  image  that  passed,  like  a 

dream  of  love  through  its  bosom, 
Tremulous,  floating  in  air,  o'er  the  depths  of 

the  azure  abysses. 
Down  through  the  golden  leaves  the  sun  was 

pouring  his  splendors, 
Gleaming  on  purple  grapes,  that,  from  branches 

above  them  suspended, 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MILES    STANDISH.        115 

Mingled  their  odorous  breath  with  the  balm 
of  the  pine  and  the  fir-tree, 

Wild  and  sweet  as  the  clusters  that  grew  in 
the  valley  of  Eshcol. 

Like  a  picture  it  seemed  of  the  primitive,  pas- 
toral ages, 

Fresh  with  the  youth  of  the  world,  and  recall- 
ing Rebecca  and  Isaac, 

Old  and  yet  ever  new,  and  simple  and  beautiful 
always, 

Love  immortal  and  young  in  the  endless  suc- 
cession of  lovers. 

So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  passed  onward 
the  bridal  procession. 


BIRDS     OF    PASSAGE. 


.  .  come  i  gru  van  cantando  lor  lai, 
Facendo  in  aer  di  se  lunga  riga. 

DANTE. 


119 


PROMETHEUS, 

OR   THE    POET'S    FORETHOUGHT. 

OF  Prometheus,  how  undaunted 
On  Olympus'  shining  bastions 
His  audacious  foot  he  planted, 
Myths  are  told  and  songs  are  chaunted, 
Full  of  promptings  and  suggestions. 

Beautiful  is  the  tradition 

Of  that  flight  through  heavenly  portals, 
The  old  classic  superstition 
Of  the  theft  and  the  transmission 

Of  the  fire  of  the  Immortals ! 

First  the  deed  of  noble  daring, 

Born  of  heavenward  aspiration, 

Then  the  fire  with  mortals  sharing, 

Then  the  vulture,  —  the  despairing 

Cry  of  pain  on  crags  Caucasian. 


120  PROMETHEUS. 

All  is  but  a  symbol  painted 

Of  the  Poet,  Prophet,  Seer ; 
Only  those  are  crowned  and  sainted 
Who  with  grief  have  been  acquainted, 

Making  nations  nobler,  freer. 

In  their  feverish  exultations, 

In  their  triumph  and  their  yearning, 
In  their  passionate  pulsations, 
In  their  words  among  the  nations, 
The  Promethean  fire  is  burning. 

Shall  it,  then,  be  unavailing, 

All  this  toil  for  human  culture  ? 
Through  the  cloud-rack,  dark  and  trailing, 
Must  they  see  above  them  sailing 

O'er  life's  barren  crags  the  vulture  ? 

Such  a  fate  as  this  was  Dante's, 

By  defeat  and  exile  maddened  ; 
Thus  were  Milton  and  Cervantes, 
Nature's  priests  and  Corybantes, 
By  affliction  touched  and  saddened. 


PROMETHEUS.  121 

But  the  glories  so  transcendent 

That  around  their  memories  cluster, 
And,  on  all  their  steps  attendant, 
Make  their  darkened  lives  resplendent 
With  such  gleams  of  inward  lustre  ! 

All  the  melodies  mysterious, 

Through  the  dreary  darkness  chaunted  ; 
Thoughts  in  attitudes  imperious, 
Voices  soft,  and  deep,  and  serious, 

Words  that  whispered,  songs  that  haunted  ! 

All  the  soul  in  rapt  suspension, 

All  the  quivering,  palpitating 
Chords  of  life  in  utmost  tension, 
With  the  fervor  of  invention, 

With  the  rapture  of  creating  ! 

Ah,  Prometheus  !  heaven-scaling  ! 

In  such  hours  of  exultation 
Even  the  faintest  heart,  unquailing, 
Might  behold  the  vulture  sailing 

Round  the  cloudy  crags  Caucasian  ! 


122  PROMETHEUS. 

Though  to  all  there  is  not  given 

Strength  for  such  sublime  endeavor, 
Thus  to  scale  the  walls  of  heaven, 
And  to  leaven  with  fiery  leaven 
Ail  the  hearts  of  men  for  ever  ; 

Yet  all  bards,  whose  hearts  unblighted 

Honor  and  believe  the  presage, 
Hold  aloft  their  torches  lighted, 
Gleaming  through  the  realms  benighted, 
As  they  onward  bear  the  message  ! 


123 


THE   LADDER  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE. 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE  !  well  hast  thou  said. 
That  of  our  vices  we  can  frame 

A  ladder,  if  we  will  but  tread 

Beneath  our  feet  each  deed  of  shame ! 

All  common  things,  each  day's  events, 
That  with  the  hour  begin  and  end, 

Our  pleasures  arid  our  discontents, 
Are  rounds  by  which  we  may  ascend. 


124      THE  LADDER  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE. 

The  low  desire,  the  base  design, 
That  makes  another's  virtues  less ; 

The  revel  of  the  treacherous  wine, 
And  all  occasions  of  excess  ; 

The  longing  for  ignoble  things ; 

The  strife  for  triumph  more  than  truth ; 
The  hardening  of  the  heart,  that  brings 

Irreverence  for  the  dreams  of  youth ; 

All  thoughts  of  ill ;  all  evil  deeds, 

That  have  their  root  in  thoughts  of  ill ; 

Whatever  hinders  or  impedes 
The  action  of  the  nobler  will ;  — 

All  these  must  first  be  trampled  down 
Beneath  our  feet,  if  we  would  gain 

In  the  bright  fields  of  fair  renown 
The  right  of  eminent  domain. 


THE  LADDER  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE.      125 

We  have  not  wings,  we  cannot  soar ; 

But  we  have  feet  to  scale  and  climb 
By  slow  degrees,  by  more  and  more, 

The  cloudy  summits  of  our  time. 

The  mighty  pyramids  of  stone 

That  wedge-like  cleave  the  desert  airs, 

When  nearer  seen,  and  better  known, 
Are  but  gigantic  flights  of  stairs. 

The  distant  mountains,  that  uprear 
Their  solid  bastions  to  the  skies, 

Are  crossed  by  pathways,  that  appear 
As  we  to  higher  levels  rise.    • 

The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. 


126       THE  LADDER  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE. 

Standing  on  what  too  long  we  bore 

With  shoulders  bent  and  downcast  eyes, 

We  may  discern  —  unseen  before  — 
A  path  to  higher  destinies. 

Nor  deem  the  irrevocable  Past, 
As  wholly  wasted,  wholly  vain, 

If,  rising  on  its  wrecks,  at  last 
To  something  nobler  we  attain. 


127 


THE   PHANTOM  SHIP. 


IN  Mather's  Magnalia  Christi, 

Of  the  old  colonial  time, 
May  be  found  in  prose  the  legend 

That  is  here  set  down  in  rhyme. 

A  ship  sailed  from  New  Haven, 
And  the  keen  and  frosty  airs, 

That  filled  her  sails  at  parting, 

Were  heavy  with  good  men's  prayers. 


128  THE    PHANTOM    SHIP. 

« 

"  O  Lord !  if  it  be  thy  pleasure  "  — 
Thus  prayed  the  old  divine  — 

"  To  bury  our  friends  in  the  ocean, 
Take  them,  for  they  are  thine !  " 

But  Master  Lamberton  muttered, 
And  under  his  breath  said  he, 

"  This  ship  is  so  crank  and  walty 
I  fear  our  grave  she  will  be !  " 

And  the  ships  that  came  from  England, 
When  the  winter  months  were  gone, 

Brought  no  tidings  of  this  vessel 
Nor  of  Master  Lamberton. 

This  put  the  people  to  praying 

That  the  Lord  would  let  them  hear 

What  in  his  greater,  wisdom 

He  had  done  with  friends  so  dear. 


THE    PHANTOM    SHIP.  129 

And  at  last  their  prayers  were  answered :  — 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June, 
An  hour  before  the  sunset 

Of  a  windy  afternoon, 

When,  steadily  steering  landward, 

A  ship  was  seen  below, 
And  they  knew  it  was  Lamberton,  Master, 

Who  sailed  so  long  ago. 

On  she  came,  with  a  cloud  of  canvas, 
Right  against  the  wind  that  blew, 

Until  the  eye  could  distinguish 
The  faces  of  the  crew. 

Then  fell  her  straining  topmasts, 
Hanging  tangled  in  the  shrouds, 

And  her  sails  were  loosened  and  lifted, 
And  blown  away  like  clouds. 
9 


130 


THE    PHANTOM   SHIP. 


And  the  masts,  with  all  their  rigging, 

Fell  slowly,  one  by  one, 
And  the  hulk  dilated  and  vanished, 

As  a  sea-mist  in  the  sun ! 

And  the  people  who  saw  this  marvel 

Each  said  unto  his  friend, 
That  this  was  the  mould  of  their  vessel, 

And  thus  her  tragic  end. 

And  the  pastor  of  the  village 
Gave  thanks  to  God  in  prayer, 

That,  to  quiet  their  troubled  spirits, 
He  had  sent  this  Ship  of  Air. 


131 


THE  WARDEN  OF  THE   CINQUE   POETS. 


A  MIST  was  driving  down  the  British  Channel, 

The  day  was  just  begun, 
And  through  the  window-panes,  on  floor  and 
panel, 

Streamed  the  red  autumn  sun. 

It  glanced  on  flowing  flag  and  rippling  pennon, 

And  the  white  sails  of  ships ; 
And,  from  the  frowning  rampart,  the  black 
cannon 

Hailed  it  with  feverish  lips. 


132         THE   WARDEN    OF    THE    CINQUE    PORTS. 

Sandwich  and  Romney,  Hastings,  Hithe,  and 

Dover 

Were  all  alert  that  day, 
To   see   the    French   war-steamers    speeding 

over, 
When  the  fog  cleared  away. 

Sullen  and  silent,  and  like  couch  ant  lions, 
Their  cannon,  through  the  night, 

Holding  their  breath,  had  watched,  in  grim 

defiance, 
The  sea-coast  opposite. 

And  now  they  roared  at  drum-beat  from  their 

stations 

On  every  citadel ; 

Each  answering  each,  with  morning   saluta- 
tions, 
That  all  was  well. 


THE    WARDEN    OF    THE    CINQUE    PORTS.         133 

And  down  the  coast,  all  taking  up  the  burden, 

Replied  the  distant  forts. 
As  if  to  summon  from  his  sleep  the  Warden 

And  Lord  of  the  Cinque  Ports. 

Him  shall  no  sunshine  from  the  fields  of  azure, 

No  drum-beat  from  the  wall, 
No  morning  gun  frojn  the  black  fort's  embrasure, 

Awaken  with  its  call ! 

No  more,  surveying  with  an  eye  impartial 

The  long  line  of  the  coast, 
Shall  the  gaunt  figure  of  the  old  Field  Marshal 

Be  seen  upon  his  post ! 

For  in  the  night,  unseen,  a  single  warrior, 

In  sombre  harness  mailed, 
Dreaded  of  man,  and  surnamed  the  Destroyer, 

The  rampart  wall  has  scaled. 


134         THE    WARDEN    OF    THE    CINQUE    PORTS. 

He  passed  into  the  chamber  of  the  sleeper. 

The  dark  and  silent  room, 
And  as  he  entered,  darker  grew,  and  deeper, 

The  silence  and  the  gloom. 

He  did  not  pause  to  parley  or  dissemble, 

But  smote  the  Warden  hoar  ; 
Ah!    what  a  blow!   that  jnade  all  England 
tremble 

And  groan  from  shore  to  shore. 

Meanwhile,  without,  the  surly  cannon  waited, 

The  sun  rose  bright  o'erhead  ; 
Nothing  in  Nature's  aspect  intimated 

That  a  great  man  was  dead. 


HAUNTED    HOUSES. 


ALL  houses  wherein  men  have  lived  and  died 
Are  haunted  houses.      Through  the   open 

doors 

The  harmless  phantoms  on  their  errands  glide, 
With  feet  that  make  no  sound  upon  the 
floors. 

We  meet  them  at  the  door- way,  on  the  stair, 
Along  the  passages  they  come  and  go, 

Impalpable  impressions  on  the  air, 

A  sense  of  something  moving  to  and  fro. 


136  HAUNTED   HOUSES. 

There  are  more  guests  at  table,  than  the  hosts 

Invited  ;  the  illuminated  hall 
Is  thronged  with  quiet,  inoffensive  ghosts, 

As  silent  as  the  pictures  on  the  wall. 

The  stranger  at  my  fireside  cannot  see 

The  forms  I  see,  nor  hear  the  sounds  I  hear ; 

He  but  perceives  what  is  ;  while  unto  me 
All  that  has  been  is  visible  and  clear. 

We  have  no  title-deeds  to  house  or  lands ; 

Owners  and  occupants  of  earlier  dates 
From  graves  forgotten  stretch  their  dusty  hands, 

And  hold  in   mortmain   still   their  old  es- 
tates. 

The  spirit-world  around  this  world  of  sense 
Floats  like  an  atmosphere,  and  everywhere 

Wafts  through  these  earthly  mists  and  vapors 

dense 
A  vital  breath  of  more  ethereal  air. 


HAUNTED    HOUSES.  137 

Our  little  lives  are  kept  in  equipoise 
By  opposite  attractions  and  desires  ; 

The  struggle  of  the  instinct  that  enjoys, 
And  the  more  noble  instinct  that  aspires. 

These  perturbations,  this  perpetual  jar 
Of  earthly  wants  and  aspirations  high, 

Come  from  the  influence  of  an  unseen  star, 
An  undiscovered  planet  in  our  sky. 

And  as  the  moon  from  some  dark  gate  of  cloud 
Throws  o'er  the  sea  a  floating  bridge  of  light, 

Across  whose  trembling  planks    our   fancies 

crowd 
Into  the  realm  of  mystery  and  night,  — 

So  from  the  world  of  spirits  there  descends 
A  bridge  of  light,  connecting  it  with  this, 

O'er  whose  unsteady  floor,  that  sways   and 

bends, 
Wander  our  thoughts  above  the  dark  abyss. 


138 


IN  THE   CHURCHYARD  AT  CAMBRIDGE. 


IN  the  village  churchyard  she  lies, 
Dust  is  in  her  beautiful  eyes, 

No  more  she  breathes,  nor  feels,  nor  stirs ; 
At  her  feet  and  at  her  head 
Lies  a  slave  to  attend  the  dead, 

But  their  dust  is  white  as  hers. 

Was  she  a  lady  of  high  degree, 
So  much  in  love  with  the  vanity 

And  foolish  pomp  of  this  world  of  ours  ? 


IN   THE    CHURCHYARD   AT    CAMBRIDGE.  139 

Or  was  it  Christian  charity, 
And  lowliness  and  humility, 

The  richest  and  rarest  of  all  dowers  ? 

Who  shall  tell  us  ?     No  one  speaks ; 
No  color  shoots  into  those  cheeks, 

Either  of  anger  or  of  pride, 
At  the  rude  question  we  have  asked ; 
Nor  will  the  mystery  be  unmasked 

By  those  who  are  sleeping  at  her  side. 

Hereafter  ?  —  And  do  you  think  to  look 
On  the  terrible  pages  of  that  Book 

To  find  her  failings,  faults,  and  errors  ? 
Ah,  you  will  then  have  other  cares, 
In  your  own  short-comings  and  despairs, 

In  your  own  secret  sins  and  terrors ! 


140 


THE   EMPEROR'S   BIRD'S-NEST. 


ONCE  the  Emperor  Charles  of  Spain, 
With  his  swarthy,  grave  commanders, 

I  forget  in  what  campaign, 

Long  besieged,  in  mud  and  rain, 
Some  old  frontier  town  of  Flanders. 

Up  and  down  the  dreary  camp, 
In  great  boots  of  Spanish  leather, 

Striding  with  a  measured  tramp, 

These  Hidalgos,  dull  and  damp, 

Cursed  the  Frenchmen,  cursed  the  weather. 


THE  EMPEROR'S  BIRD^S-NEST.  141 

Thus  as  to  and  fro  they  went, 

Over  upland  and  through  hollow, 
Giving  their  impatience  vent, 
Perched  upon  the  Emperor's  tent, 
In  her  nest,  they  spied  a  swallow. 

Yes,  it  was  a  swallow's  nest, 

Built  of  clay  and  hair  of  horses, 
Mane,  or  tail,  or  dragoon's  crest. 
Found  on  hedge-rows  east  and  west. 
After  skirmish  of  the  forces. 

Then  an  old  Hidalgo  said, 

As  he  twirled  his  gray  mustachio, 
"  Sure  this  swallow  overhead 
Thinks  the  Emperor's  tent  a  shed, 
And  the  Emperor  but  a  Macho  !  " 

Hearing  his  imperial  name 

Coupled  with  those  words  of  malice, 


142  THE  EMPEROR'S  BIRD'S-NEST. 

Half  in  anger,  half  in  shame, 
Forth  the  great  campaigner  came 
Slowly  from  his  canvas  palace. 

"  Let  no  hand  the  bird  molest," 
Said  he  solemnly,  "  nor  hurt  her! " 

Adding  then,  by  way  of  jest, 

"  Golondrina  is  my  guest, 

?T  is  the  wife  of  some  deserter !  " 

Swift  as  bowstring  speeds  a  shaft, 

Through  the  camp  was  spread  the  rumor, 

And  the  soldiers,  as  they  quaffed 

Flemish  beer  at  dinner,  laughed 
At  the  Emperor's  pleasant  humor. 

So  unharmed  and  unafraid 

Sat  the  swallow  still  and  brooded, 
Till  the  constant  cannonade 
Through  the  walls  a  breach  had  made, 
And  the  siege  was  thus  concluded. 


THE  EMPEROR'S  BIRD'S-NEST.  143 

Then  the  army,  elsewhere  bent, 
Struck  its  tents  as  if  disbanding, 

Only  not  the  Emperor's  tent, 

For  he  ordered,  ere  he  went, 

Very  curtly,  "  Leave  it  standing !  " 

So  it  stood  there  all  alone, 

Loosely  flapping,  torn  and  tattered, 
Till  the  brood  was  fledged  and  flown, 
Singing  o'er  those  walls  of  stone 

Which  the  cannon-shot  had  shattered. 


144 


THE   TWO  ANGELS. 


Two  angels,  one  of  Life  and  one  of  Death, 
Passed  o'er  our  village  as  the  morning  broke ; 

The  dawn  was  on  their  faces,  and  beneath, 
The  sombre  houses  hearsed  with  plumes  of 
smoke. 

Their  attitude  and  aspect  were  the  same, 
Alike  their  features  and  their  robes  of  white ; 

But  one  was  crowned  with  amaranth,  as  with 

flame, 
And  one  with  asphodels,  like  flakes  of  light. 


THE    TWO    ANGELS.  145 

I  saw  them  pause  on  their  celestial  way; 

Then  said  I,  with  deep  fear  and  doubt  op- 
pressed, 
"  Beat  not  so  loud,  my  heart,  lest  thou  betray 

The  place  where  thy  beloved  are  at  rest !  " 

And  he  who  wore  the  crown  of  asphodels, 
Descending,  at  my  door  began  to  knock, 

And  my  soul  sank  within  me,  as  in  wells 
The  waters  sink  before  an  earthquake's  shock. 

I  recognized  the  nameless  agony, 

The  terror  and  the  tremor  and  the  pain, 

That  oft  before  had  filled  or  haunted  me, 
And  now  returned  with  threefold  strength 
again. 

The  door  I  opened  to  my  heavenly  guest, 
And  listened,  for  I  thought  I  heard  God's 
voice ; 

10 


146  THE    TWO   ANGELS. 

And,  knowing  whatsoe'er  he  sent  was  best, 
Dared  neither  to  lament  nor  to  rejoice. 

Then  with  a  smile,  that  filled  the  house  with 
light, 

"  My  errand  is  not  Death,  but  Life,"  he  said ; 
And  ere  I  answered,  passing  out  of  sight, 

On  his  celestial  embassy  he  sped. 

7T  was  at  thy  door,  O  friend !  and  not  at  mine, 
The  angel  with  the  amaranthine  wreath, 

Pausing,  descended,  and  with  voice  divine, 
Whispered  a  word  that  had  a  sound  like 
Death. 

Then  fell  upon  the  house  a  sudden  gloom, 
A  shadow  on  those  features  fair  and  thin  ; 

And  softly,  from  that  hushed   and  darkened 

room, 
Two  angels  issued,  where  but  one  went  in. 


THE    TWO    ANGELS.  147 

All  is  of  God !    If  he  but  wave  his  hand, 
The  mists  collect,  the  rain  falls  thick  and 
loud, 

Till,  with  a  smile  of  light  on  sea  and  land, 
Lo !  he  looks  back  from  the  departing  cloud. 

Angels  of  Life  and  Death  alike  are  his  ; 

Without  his  leave  they  pass  no  threshold 

o'er; 
Who,  then,  would  wish  or  dare,  believing  this, 

Against  his  messengers  to  shut  the  door? 


148 


DAYLIGHT  AND   MOONLIGHT. 


IN  broad  daylight,  and  at  noon, 
Yesterday  I  saw  the  moon 
Sailing  high,  but  faint  and  white, 
As  a  school-boy's  paper  kite. 

In  broad  daylight,  yesterday, 
I  read  a  Poet's  mystic  lay ; 
And  it  seemed  to  me  at  most 
As  a  phantom,  or  a  ghost. 


DAYLIGHT    AND    MOONLIGHT.  149 

But  at  length  the  feverish  day 
Like  a  passion  died  away, 
And  the  night,  serene  and  still, 
Fell  on  village,  vale,  and  hill. 

Then  the  moon,  in  all  her  pride, 
Like  a  spirit  glorified, 
Filled  and  overflowed  the  night 
With  revelations  of  her  light. 

And  the  Poet's  song  again 
Passed  like  music  through  my  brain ; 
Night  interpreted  to  me 
All  its  grace  and  mystery. 


150 


THE   JEWISH  CEMETERY  AT  NEWPORT. 


How  strange  it  seems!  These  Hebrews  in 
their  graves. 

Close  by  the  street  of  this  fair  seaport  town, 
Silent  beside  the*  never-silent  waves, 

At  rest  in  all  this  moving  up  and  down  ! 

The  trees  are  white  with  dust,  that  o'er  their 

sleep 

Wave   their   broad  curtains  in  the  south- 
wind's  breath, 

While  underneath  such  leafy  tents  they  keep 
The  long,  mysterious  Exodus  of  Death. 


THE   JEWISH    CEMETERY   AT    NEWPORT.         151 

And  these  sepulchral  stones,  so  old  and  brown, 
That  pave  with  level  flags  their  burial-place, 

Seem  like  the  tablets  of  the  Law,  thrown  down 
And  broken  by  .Moses  at  the  mountain's 
base. 

The  very  names  recorded  here  are  strange, 
Of  foreign  accent,  and  of  different  climes  ; 

Alvares  and  Rivera  interchange 

With  Abraham  and  Jacob  of  old  times. 

"Blessed  be  God!  for  he  created  Death!" 
The  mourners  said,  "  and  Death  is  rest  and 

peace  "  ; 

Then  added,  in  the  certainty  of  faith, 
"  And  giveth   Life  that   never  more   shall 
cease." 

Closed  are  the  portals  of  their  Synagogue, 
No  Psalms  of  David  now  the  silence  break, 


152         THE    JEWISH    CEMETERY   AT    NEWPORT. 

No  Rabbi  reads  the  ancient  Decalogue 
In  the  grand  dialect  the  Prophets  spake. 

Gone  are  the  living,  but  the  dead  remain, 
And  not  neglected  ;  for  a  hand  unseen, 

Scattering  its  bounty,  like  a  summer  rain, 
Still  keeps  their  graves  and  their  remem- 
brance green. 

How  came  they  here  ?     What  burst  of  Chris- 
tian hate, 

What  persecution,  merciless  and  blind, 
Drove  o'er  the  sea  —  that  desert  desolate  — 

These  Ishmaels  and  Hagars  of  mankind? 

They  lived  in  narrow  streets  and  lanes  ob- 
scure, 

Ghetto  and  Judenstrass,  in  mirk  and  mire ; 
Taught  in  the  school  of  patience  to  endure 

The  life  of  anguish  and  the  death  of  fire. 


THE   JEWISH    CEMETERY   AT    NEWPORT.         153 

All  their  lives  long,  with  the  unleavened  bread 
And  bitter  herbs  of  exile  and  its  fears, 

The  wasting  famine  of  the  heart  they  fed, 
And  slaked  its  thirst  with  marah  of  their  tears. 

Anathema  maranatha!  was  the  cry 

That  rang  from  town  to  town,  from  street  to 

street ; 
At  every  gate  the  accursed  Mordecai 

Was  mocked  and  jeered,  and  spurned  by 
Christian  feet. 

Pride  and  humiliation  hand  in  hand 

Walked  with  them  through  the  world  wher- 
e'er they  went ; 

Trampled  and  beaten  were  they  as  the  sand, 
And  yet  unshaken  as  the  continent. 

For  in  the  background  figures  vague  and  vast 
Of  patriarchs  and  of  prophets  rose  sublime, 


154         THE   JEWISH    CEMETERY   AT    NEWPORT. 

And  all  the  great  traditions  of  the  Past 
They  saw  reflected  in  the  coming  time. 

And  thus  for  ever  with  reverted  look 

The  mystic  volume  of  the  world  they  read, 

Spelling  it  backward,  like  a  Hebrew  book, 
Till  life  became  a  Legend  of  the  Dead. 

But  ah !  what  once  has  been  shall  be  no  more ! 

The  groaning  earth  in  travail  and  in  pain 
*  Brings  forth  its  races,  but  does  not  restore, 
And  the  dead  nations  never  rise  again. 


155 


OLIVER  BASSELIN. 


IN  the  Valley  of  the  Vire 

Still  is  seen  an  ancient  mill, 
With  its  gables  quaint  and  queer, 
And  beneath  the  window-sill, 
On  the  stone, 
These  words  alone : 
"  Oliver  Basselin  lived  here." 

Far  above  it,  on  the  steep, 

Ruined  stands  the  old  Chateau ; 

Nothing  but  the  donjon-keep 
Left  for  shelter  or  for  show. 


156  OLIVER    BASSELIN. 

Its  vacant  eyes 
Stare  at  the  skies, 
Stare  at  the  valley  green  and  deep. 

Once  a  convent,  old  and  brown, 

Looked,  but  ah !  it  looks  no  more, 
From  the  neighboring  hillside  down 
On  the  rushing  and  the  roar 
Of  the  stream 
Whose  sunny  gleam 
Cheers  the  little  Norman  town. 

In  that  darksome  mill  of  stone, 
To  the  water's  dash  and  din, 
Careless,  humble,  and  unknown, 
Sang  the  poet  Basselin 
Songs  that  fill 
That  ancient  mill 
With  a  splendor  of  its  own. 


OLIVER   BASSELIN.  157 

Never  feeling  of  unrest 

Broke  the  pleasant  dream  he  dreamed  ; 
Only  made  to  be  his  nest, 
All  the  lovely  valley  seemed ; 
No  desire 
Of  soaring  higher 
Stirred  or  fluttered  in  his  breast. 

True,  his  songs  were  not  divine ; 

Were  not  songs  of  that  high  art, 
Which,  as  winds  do  in  the  pine, 
Find  an  answer  in  each  heart ; 
But  the  mirth 
Of  this  green  earth 
Laughed  and  revelled  in  his  line. 

From  the  alehouse  and  the  inn, 

Opening  on  the  narrow  street, 
Came  the  loud,  convivial  din, 

Singing  and  applause  of  feet, 


158  OLIVER   BASSELIN. 

The  laughing  lays 
That  in  those  days 
Sang  the  poet  Basselin. 

In  the  castle,  cased  in  steel. 

Knights,  who  fought  at  Agincourt, 
Watched  and  waited,  spur  on  heel ; 
But  the  poet  sang  for  sport 
Songs  that  rang 
Another  clang, 
Songs  that  lowlier  hearts  could  feel. 

In  the  convent,  clad  in  gray, 

Sat  the  monks  in  lonely  cells, 
Paced  the  cloisters,  knelt  to  pray, 
And  the  poet  heard  their  bells  ; 
But  his  rhymes 
Found  other  chimes, 
Nearer  to  the  earth  than  they. 


OLIVER   BASSELIN.  159 

Gone  are  all  the  barons  bold, 

Gone  are  all  the  knights  and  squires, 
Gone  the  abbot  stem  and  cold, 
And  the  brotherhood  of  friars ; 
Not  a  name 
Remains  to  fame, 
From  those  mouldering  days  of  old ! 

But  the  poet's  memory  here 

Of  the  landscape  makes  a  part ; 
Like  the  river,  swift  and  clear, 

Flows  his  song  through  many  a  heart ; 
Haunting  still 
That  ancient  mill, 
In  the  Valley  of  the  Vire. 


160 


VICTOR  GALBRAITH. 


UNDER  the  walls  of  Monterey 

At  daybreak  the  bugles  began  to  play, 

Victor  Galbraith! 

In  the  mist  of  the  morning  damp  and  gray, 
These  were  the  words  they  seemed  to  say  : 
"  Come  forth  to  thy  death, 
Victor  Galbraith!" 

Forth  he  came,  with  a  martial  tread  ; 
Firm  was  his  step,  erect  his  head ; 
Victor  Galbraith, 


VICTOR   GALBRAITH.  161 

He  who  so  well  the  bugle  played, 
Could  not  mistake  the  words  it  said : 
"  Come  forth  to  thy  death, 
Victor  Galbraith ! " 

He  looked  at  the  earth,  he  looked  at  the  sky, 
He  looked  at  the  files  of  musketry, 

Victor  Galbraith! 

And  he  said,  with  a  steady  voice  and  eye, 
"  Take  good  aim ;  I  am  ready  to  die !" 

Thus  challenges  death 

Victor  Galbraith. 

Twelve  fiery  tongues  flashed  straight  and  red, 
Six  leaden  balls  on  their  errand  sped  ; 

Victor  Galbraith 

Falls  to  the  ground,  but  he  is  not  dead  ; 
His  name  was  not  stamped  on  those  balls  of 
lead, 

And  they  only  scath 

Victor  Galbraith. 
11 


162  VICTOR   GALBRAITH. 

Three  balls  are  in  his  breast  and  brain, 
But  he  rises  out  of  the  dust  again, 

Victor  Galbraith ! 

The  water  he  drinks  has  a  bloody  stain ; 
"  O  kill  me,  and  put  me  out  of  my  pain ! " 

In  his  agony  prayeth 

Victor  Galbraith. 

Forth    dart    once     more    those    tongues    of 

flame, 
And  the  bugler  has  died  a  death  of  shame, 

Victor  Galbraith! 

His  soul  has  gone  back  to  whence  it  came, 
And  no  one  answers  to  the  name, 

When  the  Sergeant  saith, 

"Victor  Galbraith !" 

Under  the  walls  of  Monterey 
By  night  a  bugle  is  heard  to  play, 
Victor  Galbraith! 


VICTOR   GALBRAITH.  163 

Through  the  mist  of  the  valley  damp  and  gray 
The  sentinels  hear  the  sound,  and  say, 

«  That  is  the  wraith 

Of  Victor  Galbraith ! " 


164 


MY    LOST   YOUTH. 


Often  I  think  of  the  beautiful  town 

That  is  seated  by  the  sea ; 
Often  in  thought  go  up  and  down 
The  pleasant  streets  of  that  dear  old  town, 
And  my  youth  comes  back  to  me. 
And  a  verse  of  a  Lapland  song 
Is  haunting  my  memory  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the   thoughts   of  youth  are   long,  long 
thoughts." 


MY   LOST   YOUTH.  165 

I  can  see  the  shadowy  lines  of  its  trees, 

And  catch,  in  sudden  gleams, 
The  sheen  of  the  far-surrounding  seas, 
And  islands  that  were  the  Hesperides 
Of  all  my  boyish  dreams. 

And  the  burden  of  that  old  song, 
It  murmurs  and  whispers  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth    are   long,  long 
thoughts." 

I  remember  the  black  wharves  and  the  slips, 

And  the  sea-tides  tossing  free  ; 
And  Spanish  sailors  with  bearded  lips, 
And  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  ships, 
And  the  magic  of  the  sea. 

And  the  voice  of  that  wayward  song 
Is  singing  and  saying  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts    of  youth    are  long,   long 
thoughts." 


166  BIY   LOST   YOUTH. 

I  remember  the  bulwarks  by  the  shore, 

And  the  fort  upon  the  hill ; 
The  sun-rise  gun,  with  its  hollow  roar, 
The  drum-beat  repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  the  bugle  wild  and  shrill. 
And  the  music  of  that  old  song 
Throbs  in  my  memory  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth   are   long,   long 
thoughts." 

I  remember  the  sea-fight  far  away, 
How  it  thundered  o'er  the  tide ! 
And  the  dead  captains,  as  they  lay 
In  their  graves,  o'erlooking  the  tranquil  bay, 
Where  they  in  battle  died. 

And  the  sound  of  that  mournful  song 
Goes  through  me  with  a  thrill : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts    of  youth   are  long,   long 
thoughts." 


MY    LOST   YOUTH.  167 

I  can  see  the  breezy  dome  of  groves, 
The  shadows  of  Deering's  Woods ; 
And  the  friendships  old  and  the  early  loves 
Come  back  with  a  sabbath  sound,  as  of  doves 
In  quiet  neighborhoods. 

And  the  verse  of  that  sweet  old  song, 
It  flutters  and  murmurs  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the   thoughts   of  youth  are   long,  long 
thoughts." 

I  remember  the  gleams  and  glooms  that  dart 

Across  the  schoolboy's  brain  ; 
The  song  and  the  silence  in  the  heart, 
That  in  part  are  prophecies,  and  in  part 
Are  longings  wild  and  vain. 

And  the  voice  of  that  fitful  song 
Sings  on,  and  is  never  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are   long,  long 
thoughts." 


168  MY   LOST    YOUTH. 

There  are  things  of  which  I  may  not  speak ; 

There  are  dreams  that  cannot  die ; 
There  are  thoughts  that  make  the  strong  heart 

weak, 

And  bring  a  pallor  into  the  cheek. 
And  a  mist  before  the  eye. 

And  the  words  of  that  fatal  song 
Come  over  me  like  a  chill : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts   of  youth   are   long,  long 
thoughts." 

Strange  to  me  now  are  the  forms  I  meet 

When  I  visit  the  dear  old  town ; 
But  the  native  air  is  pure  and  sweet, 
And   the   trees   that   o'ershadow   each    well- 
known  street, 

As  they  balance  up  and  down, 
Are  singing  the  beautiful  song, 
Are  sighing  and  whispering  still : 


MY   LOST    YOUTH.  169 

"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth   are   long,   long 
thoughts." 

And  Deering's  Woods  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  with  joy  that  is  almost  pain 
My  heart  goes  back  to  wander  there, 
And  among  the  dreams  of  the  days  that  were, 
I  find  my  lost  youth  again. 

And  the  strange  and  beautiful  song, 
The  groves  are  repeating  it  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the   thoughts  of  youth  are  long,   long 
thoughts." 


170 


THE    ROPEWALK. 


IN  that  building,  long  and  low, 
With  its  windows  all  a-row, 

Like  the  port-holes  of  a  hulk, 
Human  spiders  spin  and  spin, 
Backward  down  their  threads  so  thin 

Dropping,  each  a  hempen  bulk. 

At  the  end,  an  open  door ; 
Squares  of  sunshine  on  the  floor 

Light  the  long  and  dusky  lane ; 
And  the  whirring  of  a  wheel, 
Dull  and  drowsy,  makes  me  feel 

All  its  spokes  are  in  my  brain. 


THE    ROPEWALK.  171 

As  the  spinners  to  the  end 
Downward  go  and  reascend, 

Gleam  the  long  threads  in  the  sun ; 
While  within  this  brain  of  mine 
Cobwebs  brighter  and  more  fine 

By  the  busy  wheel  are  spun. 

Two  fair  maidens  in  a  swing, 
Like  white  doves  upon  the  wing, 

First  before  my  vision  pass  ; 
Laughing,  as  their  gentle  hands 
Closely  clasp  the  twisted  strands, 

At  their  shadow  on  the  grass. 

Then  a  booth  of  mountebanks, 
With  its  smell  of  tan  and  planks, 

And  a  girl  poised  high  in  air 
On  a  cord,  in  spangled  dress, 
With  a  faded  loveliness, 

And  a  weary  look  of  care. 


172  THE    ROPEWALK. 

Then  a  homestead  among  farms, 
And  a  woman  with  bare  arms 

Drawing  water  from  a  well ; 
As  the  bucket  mounts  apace, 
With  it  mounts  her  own  fair  face, 

As  at  some  magician's  spell. 

Then  an  old  man  in  a  tower, 
Ringing  loud  the  noontide  hour, 

While  the  rope  coils  round  and  round 
Like  a  serpent  at  his  feet, 
And  again,  in  swift  retreat, 

Nearly  lifts  him  from  the  ground. 

Then  within  a  prison-yard, 
Faces  fixed,  and  stern,  and  hard, 

Laughter  and  indecent  mirth ; 
Ah !  it  is  the  gallows-tree ! 
Breath  of  Christian  charity, 

Blow,  and  sweep  it  from  the  earth ! 


THE    ROPEWALK.  173 

Then  a  school-boy,  with  his  kite 
Gleaming  in  a  sky  of  light, 

And  an  eager,  upward  look ; 
Steeds  pursued  through  lane  and  field ; 
Fowlers  with  their  snares  concealed ; 

And  an  angler  by  a  brook. 

Ships  rejoicing  in  the  breeze, 
Wrecks  that  float  o'er  unknown  seas, 

Anchors  dragged  through  faithless  sand; 
Sea-fog  drifting  overhead, 
And,  with  lessening  line  and  lead, 

Sailors  feeling  for  the  land. 

All  these  scenes  do  I  behold, 
These,  and  many  left  untold, 

In  that  building  long  and  low ; 
While  the  wheel  goes  round  and  round, 
With  a  drowsy,  dreamy  sound, 

And  the  spinners  backward  go. 


17 4 


THE   GOLDEN   MILE-STONE. 


LEAFLESS  are  the  trees ;  their  purple  branches 
Spread  themselves  abroad,  like  reefs  of  coral, 

Rising  silent 
In  the  Red  Sea  of  the  Winter  sunset. 

From  the  hundred  chimneys  of  the  village, 
Like  the  Afreet  in  the  Arabian  story, 

Smoky  columns 
Tower  aloft  into  the  air  of  amber. 


THE    GOLDEN    BULB-STONE.  175 

At  the  window  winks  the  flickering  fire-light ; 
Here  and  there  the  lamps  of  evening  glimmer, 

Social  watch-fires 
Answering  one  another  through  the  darkness. 

On  the  hearth  the  lighted  logs  are  glowing, 
And  like  Ariel  in  the  cloven  pine-tree 

For  its  freedom 
Groans  and  sighs  the  air  imprisoned  in  them. 

By  the  fireside  there  are  old  men  seated, 
Seeing  ruined  cities  in  the  ashes, 

Asking  sadly 
Of  the  Past  what  it  can  ne'er  restore  them. 

By  the  fireside  there  are  youthful  dreamers, 
Building  castles  fair,  with  stately  stairways, 

Asking  blindly 
Of  the  Future  what  it  cannot  give  them. 


176  THE    GOLDEN    MILE-STONE. 

By  the  fireside  tragedies  are  acted 

In  whose  scenes  appear  two  actors  only, 

"Wife  and  husband, 
And  above  them  God  the  sole  spectator. 

By  the  fireside  there  are  peace  and  comfort, 
Wives  and  children,  with  fair,  thoughtful  faces, 

Waiting,  watching 
For  a  well-known  footstep  in  the  passage. 

Each  man's  chimney  is  his  Golden  Mile-stone ; 
Is  the  central  point,  from  which  he  measures 

Every  distance 
Through  the  gateways  of  the  world  around  him. 

In  his  farthest  wanderings  still  he  sees  it ; 
Hears  the  talking  flame,  the  answering  night- 
wind, 

As  he  heard  them 
When  he  sat  with  those  who  were,  but  are  not. 


THE    GOLDEN    MILE-STONE.  177 

Happy  he  whom  neither  wealth  nor  fashion, 
Nor  the  march  of  the  encroaching  city, 

Drives  an  exile 
From  the  hearth  of  his  ancestral  homestead. 

We  may  build  more  splendid  habitations, 
Fill  our  rooms  with  paintings  and  with  sculp- 
tures, 

But  we  cannot 
Buy  with  gold  the  old  associations ! 


12 


178 


CATAWBA  WINE. 


THIS  song  of  mine 
Is  a  Song  of  the  Vine, 

To  be  sung  by  the  glowing  embers 
Of  wayside  inns, 
When  the  rain  begins 

To  darken  the  drear  Novembers. 

It  is  not  a  song 

Of  the  Scuppernong, 
From  warm  Carolinian  valleys, 

Nor  the  Isabel 

And  the  Muscadel 
That  bask  in  our  garden  alleys. 


CATAWBA   WINE.  179 

Nor  the  red  Mustang, 

Whose  clusters  hang 
O'er  the  waves  of  the  Colorado, 

And  the  fiery  flood 

Of  whose  purple  blood 
Has  a  dash  of  Spanish  bravado. 

For  richest  and  best 

Is  the  wine  of  the  West, 
That  grows  by  the  Beautiful  River ; 

Whose  sweet  perfume 

Fills  all  the  room 
With  a  benison  on  the  giver. 

And  as  hollow  trees 

Are  the  haunts  of  bees, 
For  ever  going  and  coming ; 

So  this  crystal  hive 

Is  all  alive 
With  a  swarming  and  buzzing  and  humming. 


180  CATAWBA    WINE. 

Very  good  in  its  way 

Is  the  Verzenay, 
Or  the  Sillery  soft  and  creamy ;     . 

But  Catawba  wine 

Has  a  taste  more  divine, 
More  dulcet,  delicious,  and  dreamy. 

There  grows  no  vine 

By  the  haunted  Rhine, 
By  Danube  or  Guadalquivir, 

Nor  on  island  or  cape, 

That  bears  such  a  grape 
As  grows  by  the  Beautiful  River. 

Drugged  is  their  juice 

For  foreign  use, 
When  shipped  o'er  the  reeling  Atlantic, 

To  rack  our  brains 

With  the  fever  pains, 
That  have  driven  the  Old  World  frantic. 


CATAWBA   WINE.  181 

To  the  sewers  and  sinks 

With  all  such  drinks, 
And  after  them  tumble  the  mixer ; 

For  a  poison  malign 

Is  such  Borgia  wine, 
Or  at  best  but  a  Devil's  Elixir. 

While  pure  as  a  spring 

Is  the  wine  I  sing, 
And  to  praise  it,  one  needs  but  name  it; 

For  Catawba  wine 

Has  need  of  no  sign, 
No  tavern-bush  to  proclaim  it. 

And  this  Song  of  the  Vine, 

This  greeting  of  mine, 
The  winds  and  the  birds  shall  deliver 

To  the  Queen  of  the  West, 

In  her  garlands  dressed, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Beautiful  River. 


182 


SANTA  FILOMENA. 


WHENE'ER  a  noble  deed  is  wrought, 
Whene'er  is  spoken  a  noble  thought, 

Our  hearts,  in  glad  surprise, 

To  higher  levels  rise. 

The  tidal  wave  of  deeper  souls 

Into  our  inmost  being  rolls, 
And  lifts  us  unawares 
Out  of  all  meaner  cares. 


SANTA   FILOMENA.  183 

Honor  to  those  whose  words  or  deeds 
Thus  help  us  in  our  daily  needs, 
And  by  their  overflow 
Raise  us  from  what  is  low! 

Thus  thought  I,  as  by  night  I  read 

Of  the  great  army  of  the  dead, 
The  trenches  cold  and  damp, 
The  starved  and  frozen  camp,  — 

The  wounded  from  the  battle-plain, 
In  dreary  hospitals  of  pain, 

The  cheerless  corridors, 

The  cold  and  stony  floors. 

Lo !  in  that  house  of  misery 

A  lady  with  a  lamp  I  see 

Pass  through  the  glimmering  gloom, 
And  flit  from  room  to  room. 


184  SANTA    FILOMENA. 

And  slow,  as  in  a  dream  of  bliss, 
The  speechless  sufferer  turns  to  kiss 
Her  shadow,  as  it  falls 
Upon  the  darkening  walls. 

As  if  a  door  in  heaven  should  be 
Opened  and  then  closed  suddenly, 
The  vision  came  and  went, 
The  light  shone  and  was  spent. 

On  England's  annals,  through  the  long 
Hereafter  of  her  speech  and  song, 
That  light  its  rays  shall  cast 
From  portals  of  the  past. 

A  Lady  with  a  Lamp  shall  stand 
In  the  great  history  of  the  land, 

A  noble  type  of  good, 

Heroic  womanhood. 


SANTA    FILOMENA.  185 

Nor  even  shall  be  wanting  here 
The  palm,  the  lily,  and  the  spear, 

The  symbols  that  of  yore 

Saint  Filomena  bore. 


186 


THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE. 

A    LEAF    FROM    KING    ALFRED'S    OROSIUS. 

OTHERE,  the  old  sea-captain, 

Who  dwelt  in  Helgoland, 
To  King  Alfred,  the  Lover  of  Truth, 
Brought  a  snow-white  walrus-tooth, 

Which  he  held  in  his  brown  right  hand. 

His  figure  was  tall  and  stately, 
Like  a  boy's  his  eye  appeared ; 


THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE.  187 

His  hair  was  yellow  as  hay, 
But  threads  of  a  silvery  gray 
Gleamed  in  his  tawny  beard. 

Hearty  and  hale  was  Othere, 
His  cheek  had  the  color  of  oak ; 

With  a  kind  of  laugh  in  his  speech, 

Like  the  sea-tide  on  a  beach, 
As  unto  the  King  he  spoke. 

And  Alfred,  King  of  the  Saxons, 

Had  a  book  upon  his  knees, 
And  wrote  down  the  wondrous  tale 
Of  him  who  was  first  to  sail 

Into  the  Arctic  seas. 

"  So  far  I  live  to  the  northward, 

No  man  lives  north  of  me  ; 
To  the  east  are  wild  mountain-chains, 
And  beyond  them  meres  and  plains ; 

To  the  westward  all  is  sea. 


188          THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE, 

"  So  far  I  live  to  the  northward, 

From  the  harbor  of  Skeringes-hale, 
If  you  only  sailed  by  day. 
With  a  fair  wind  all  the  way. 

More  than  a  month  would  you  sail. 

"  I  own  six  hundred  reindeer, 

With  sheep  and  swine  beside ; 
I  have  tribute  from  the  Finns, 
Whalebone  and  reindeer-skins, 
And  ropes  of  walrus-hide. 

"  I  ploughed  the  land  with  horses, 
But  my  heart  was  ill  at  ease, 

For  the  old  seafaring  men 

Came  to  me  now  and  then, 

With  their  sagas  of  the  seas ;  — 

"  Of  Iceland  and  of  Greenland, 
And  the  stormy  Hebrides, 


THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE.          189 

And  the  undiscovered  deep  ;  — 
I  could  not  eat  nor  sleep 
For  thinking  of  those  seas. 

"  To  the  northward  stretched  the  desert, 

How  far  I  fain  would  know; 
So  at  last  I  sallied  forth, 
And  three  days  sailed  due  north, 

As  far  as  the  whale-ships  go. 

"  To  the  west  of  me  was  the  ocean, 
To  the  right  the  desolate  shore, 

But  I  did  not  slacken  sail 

For  the  walrus  or  the  whale, 
Till  after  three  days  more. 

"  The  days  grew  longer  and  longer, 

Till  they  became  as  one, 
And  southward  through  the  haze 
I  saw  the  sullen  blaze 

Of  the  red  midnight  sun. 


190           THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE. 

"  And  then  uprose  before  me, 

Upon  the  water's  edge, 
The  huge  and  haggard  shape 
Of  that  unknown  North  Cape, 

Whose  form  is  like  a  wedge. 

"  The  sea  was  rough  and  stormy, 
The  tempest  howled  and  wailed, 

And  the  sea-fog,  like  a  ghost, 

Haunted  that  dreary  coast, 
But  onward  still  I  sailed. 

"  Four  days  I  steered  to  eastward, 

Four  days  without  a  night : 
Round  in  a  fiery  ring 
Went  the  great  sun,  O  King, 
With  red  and  lurid  light." 

Here  Alfred,  King  of  the  Saxons, 
Ceased  writing  for  a  while  ; 


THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE.  191 

And  raised  his  eyes  from  his  book, 
With  a  strange  and  puzzled  look, 
And  an  incredulous  smile. 

But  Othere,  the  old  sea-captain, 

He  neither  paused  nor  stirred, 
Till  the  King  listened,  and  then 
Onee  more  took  up  his  pen, 

And  wrote  down  every  word. 

"  And  now  the  land,"  said  Othere, 

"  Bent  southward  suddenly, 
And  I  followed  the  curving  shore 
And  ever  southward  bore 

Into  a  nameless  sea. 

"  And  there  we  hunted  the  walrus, 

The  narwhale,  and  the  seal ; 
Ha!  'twas  a  noble  game! 
And  like  the  lightning's  flame 

Flew  our  harpoons  of  steel. 


192  THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE. 

"  There  were  six  of  us  all  together, 

Norsemen  of  Helgoland ; 
In  two  days  and  no  more 
We  killed  of  them  threescore, 

And  dragged  them  to  the  strand ! " 

Here  Alfred  the  Truth-Teller 
Suddenly  closed  his  book, 
And  lifted  his  blue  eyes, 
With  doubt  and  strange  surmise 
Depicted  in  their  look. 

And  Othere  the  old  sea-captain 
Stared  at  him  wild  and  weird, 
Then  smiled,  till  his  shining  teeth 
Gleamed  white  from  underneath 
His  tawny,  quivering  beard. 

And  to  the  King  of  the  Saxons, 
In  witness  of  the  truth, 


THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE.  193 

Raising  his  noble  head, 
He  stretched  his  brown  hand,  and  said, 
"  Behold  this  walrus-tooth  !  " 


13 


194 


DAYBREAK. 


A  WIND  came  up  out  of  the  sea, 

And  said,  "  O  mists,  make  room  for  me." 

It  hailed  the  ships,  and  cried,  "  Sail  on, 
Ye  mariners,  the  night  is  gone." 

And  hurried  landward  far  away, 
Crying,  "  Awake!  it  is  the  day." 

It  said  unto  the  forest,  "  Shout ! 
Hang  all  your  leafy  banners  out ! " 


DAYBREAK.  195 

It  touched  the  wood-bird's  folded  wing, 
And  said,  "  O  bird,  awake  and  sing." 

And  o'er  the  farms,  "  O  chanticleer, 
Your  clarion  blow ;  the  day  is  near." 

It  whispered  to  the  fields  of  corn, 

"  Bow  down,  and  hail  the  coming  morn." 

It  shouted  through  the  belfry-tower, 
"  Awake,  O  bell !  proclaim  the  hour." 

It  crossed  the  churchyard  with  a  sigh, 
And  said,  "  Not  yet !  in  quiet  lie." 


196 


THE  FIFTIETH  BIRTHDAY  OF  AGASSIZ. 

MAY   28,    1857. 

IT  was  fifty  years  ago 

In  the  pleasant  month  of  May, 
In  the  beautiful  Pays  de  Vaud, 

A  child  in  its  cradle  lay. 

And  Nature,  the  old  nurse,  took 
The  child  upon  her  knee, 

Saying  :  "  Here  is  a  story-book 
Thy  Father  has  written  for  thee." 


THE    FIFTIETH    BIRTHDAY   OF    AGASSIZ.  197 

"  Come,  wander  with  me,"  she  said, 

"  Into  regions  yet  untrod  ; 
And  read  what  is  still  unread 

In  the  manuscripts  of  God." 

And  he  wandered  away  and  away 
With  Nature,  the  dear  old  nurse, 

Who  sang  to  him  night  and  day 
The  rhymes  of  the  universe. 

And  whenever  the  way  seemed  long, 

Or  his  heart  began  to  fail, 
She  would  sing  a  more  wonderful  song, 

Or  tell  a  more  marvellous  tale. 

So  she  keeps  him  still  a  child, 

And  will  not  let  him  go. 
Though  at  times  his  heart  beats  wild 

For  the  beautiful  Pays  de  Vaud ; 


198          THE    FIFTIETH    BIRTHDAY    OF    AGASSIZ. 

Though  at  times  he  hears  in  his  dreams 
The  Ranz  des  Vaches  of  old, 

And  the  rush  of  mountain  streams 
From  glaciers  clear  and  cold  ; 

And  the  mother  at  home  says,  "  Hark ! 

For  his  voice  I  listen  and  yearn ; 
It  is  growing  late  and  dark, 

And  my  boy  does  not  return ! " 


199 


CHILDREN. 


COME  to  me,  O  ye  children ! 

For  I  hear  you  at  your  play, 
And  the  questions  that  perplexed  me 

Have  vanished  quite  away. 

Ye  open  the  eastern  windows, 
That  look  towards  the  sun, 

Where  thoughts  are  singing  swallows 
And  the  brooks  of  morning  run. 


200 


CHILDREN. 


In  your  hearts  are  the  birds  and  the  sunshine, 
In  your  thoughts  the  brooklet's  flow, 

But  in  mine  is  the  wind  of  Autumn 
And  the  first  fall  of  the  snow. 

Ah!  what  would  the  world  be  to  us 

If  the  children  were  no  more  ? 
We  should  dread  the  desert  behind  us 

Worse  than  the  dark  before. 

What  the  leaves  are  to  the  forest, 

With  light  and  air  for  food, 
Ere  their  sweet  and  tender  juices 

Have  been  hardened  into  wood, — 

That  to  the  world  are  children ; 

Through  them  it  feels  the  glow 
Of  a  brighter  and  sunnier  climate 

Than  reaches  the  trunks  below. 


CHILDREN.  201 

Come  to  me,  O  ye  children ! 

And  whisper  in  my  ear 
What  the  birds  and  the  winds  are  singing 

In  your  sunny  atmosphere. 

For  what  are  all  our  contrivings, 
And  the  wisdom  of  our  books, 

When  compared  with  your  caresses, 
And  the  gladness  of  your  looks  ? 

Ye  are  better  than  all  the  ballads 

That  ever  were  sung  or  said  ; 
For  ye  are  living  poems, 

And  all  the  rest  are  dead. 


202 


SANDALPHON. 


HAVE  you  read  in  the  Talmud  of  old, 
In  the  Legends  the  Rabbins  have  told 

Of  the  limitless  realms  of  the  air,  — 
Have  you  read  it,  —  the  marvellous  story 
Of  Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Glory, 

Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Prayer? 

How,  erect,  at  the  outermost  gates. 
Of  the  City  Celestial  he  waits, 

With  his  feet  on  the  ladder  of  light, 
That,  crowded  with  angels  unnumbered, 
By  Jacob  was  seen,  as  he  slumbered 

Alone  in  the  desert  at  night  ? 


SANDALPHON.  203 

The  Angels  of  Wind  and  of  Fire 
Chaunt  only  one  hymn,  and  expire 

With  the  song's  irresistible  stress  ; 
Expire  in  their  rapture  and  wonder, 
As  harp-strings  are  broken  asunder 

By  music  they  throb  to  express. 

But  serene  in  the  rapturous  throng, 
Unmoved  by  the  rush  of  the  song, 

With  eyes  unimpassioned  and  slow, 
Among  the  dead  angels,  the  deathless 
Sandalphon  stands  listening  breathless 

To  sounds  that  ascend  from  below ;  — 

From  the  spirits  on  earth  that  adore, 
From  the  souls  that  entreat  and  implore 

In  the  fervor  and  passion  of  prayer ; 
From  the  hearts  that  are  broken  with  losses, 
And  weary  with  dragging  the  crosses 

Too  heavy  for  mortals  to  bear. 


204  SANDALPHON. 

And  he  gathers  the  prayers  as  he  stands, 
And  they  change  into  flowers  in  his  hands, 

Into  garlands  of  purple  and  red ; 
And  beneath  the  great  arch  of  the  portal, 
Through  the  streets  of  the  City  Immortal 

Is  wafted  the  fragrance  they  shed. 

It  is  but  a  legend,  I  know,  — 
A  fable,  a  phantom,  a  show, 

Of  the  ancient  Rabbinical  lore  ; 
Yet  the  old  mediaeval  tradition, 
The  beautiful,  strange  superstition, 

But  haunts  me  and  holds  me  the  more. 

When  I  look  from  my  window  at  night, 
And  the  welkin  above  is  all  white, 

All  throbbing  and  panting  with  stars, 
Among  them  majestic  is  standing 
Sandalphon  the  angel,  expanding 

His  pinions  in  nebulous  bars. 


SANDALPHON.  205 

And  the  legend,  I  feel,  is  a  part 

Of  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  heart, 

The  frenzy  and  fire  of  the  brain, 
That  grasps  at  the  fruitage  forbidden, 
The  golden  pomegranates  of  Eden, 

To  quiet  its  fever  and  pain. 


206 


EPIMETHEUS, 

OR    THE    POET'S    AFTERTHOUGHT. 

HAVE  I  dreamed  ?  or  was  it  real, 

What  I  saw  as  in  a  vision, 
When  to  marches  hymeneal 
In  the  land  of  the  Ideal 

Moved  my  thought  o'er  Fields  Elysian  ? 

What !  are  these  the  guests  whose  glances 
Seemed  like  sunshine  gleaming  round  me  ? 

These  the  wild,  bewildering  fancies, 

That  with  dithyrambic  dances 
As  with  magic  circles  bound  me  ? 

Ah !  how  cold  are  their  caresses  ! 

Pallid  cheeks,  and  haggard  bosoms ! 
Spectral  gleam  their  snow-white  dresses, 
And  from  loose,  dishevelled  tresses 

Fall  the  hyacinthine  blossoms  ! 


EPIMETHEUS.  207 

O  my  songs !  whose  winsome  measures 
Filled  my  heart  with  secret  rapture  ! 

Children  of  my  golden  leisures  ! 

Must  even  your  delights  and  pleasures 
Fade  and  perish  with  the  capture  ? 

Fair  they  seemed,  those  songs  sonorous, 
When  they  came  to  me  unbidden ; 

Voices  single,  and  in  chorus, 

Like  the  wild  birds  singing  o'er  us 
In  the  dark  of  branches  hidden. 

Disenchantment !    Disillusion ! 

Must  each  noble  aspiration 
Come  at  last  to  this  conclusion, 
Jarring  discord,  wild  confusion, 

Lassitude,  renunciation  ? 

Not  with  steeper  fall  nor  faster, 
From  the  sun's  serene  dominions, 

Not  through  brighter  realms  nor  vaster, 

In  swift  ruin  and  disaster, 

Icarus  fell  with  shattered  pinions  ! 


208  EPIMETHEUS. 

Sweet  Pandora  !  dear  Pandora  ! 

Why  did  mighty  Jove  create  thee 
Coy  as  Thetis,  fair  as  Flora, 
Beautiful  as  young  Aurora, 

If  to  win  thee  is  to  hate  thee  ? 

No,  not  hate  thee  !  for  this  feeling 

Of  unrest  and  long  resistance 
Is  but  passionate  appealing, 
A  prophetic  whisper  stealing 

O'er  the  chords  of  our  existence. 

Him  whom  thou  dost  once  enamour, 

Thou,  beloved,  never  leavest ; 
In  life's  discord,  strife,  and  clamor, 
Still  he  feels  thy  spell  of  glamour ; 
Him  of  Hope  thou  ne'er  bereavest. 

Weary  hearts  by  thee  are  lifted, 

Struggling  souls  by  thee  are  strengthened, 
Clouds  of  fear  asunder  rifted, 
Truth  from  falsehood  cleansed  and  sifted, 
Lives,  like  days  in  summer,  lengthened ! 


EPIMETHEUS.  209 

Therefore  art  thou  ever  dearer, 

O  my  Sibyl,  my  deceiver ! 
For  thou  makest  each  mystery  clearer, 
And  the  unattained  seems  nearer, 

When  thou  fillest  my  heart  with  fever ! 

Muse  of  all  the  Gifts  and  Graces  ! 

Though  the  fields  around  us  wither, 
There  are  ampler  realms  and  spaces, 
Where  no  foot  has  left  its  traces  : 

Let  us  turn  and  wander  thither  ! 


14 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


PAGE  123.     That  of  our  vices  ice  can  frame 

A  ladder. 

The  words  of  St.  Augustine  are,  "  De  vitiis  nostris 
scalam  nobis  facimus,  si  vitia  ipsa  calcamus." 

Sermon  III.  De  Ascensione. 

PAGE  127.    THE  PHANTOM  SHIP. 

A  detailed  account  of  this  "  apparition  of  a  Ship  in 
the  Air"  is  given  by  Cotton  Mather  in  his  Magnalia 
Christi,  Book  I.  Ch.  VI.  It  is  contained  in  a  letter  from 
the  Rev.  James  Pierpont,  Pastor  of  New  Haven.  To  this 
account  Mather  adds  these  words  :  — 

"  Reader,  there  being  yet  living  so  many  credible  gen- 
tlemen, that  were  eyewitnesses  of  this  wonderful  thing, 
I  venture  to  publish  it  for  a  thing  as  undoubted  as  't  is 
wonderful." 


214  NOTES. 

PAGE  141.    And  the  Emperor  but  a  Maclio. 

Macho,  in  Spanish,  signifies  a  mule.  Golondrina  is  the 
feminine  form  of  Golondrino,  a  swallow,  and  also  a  cant 
name  for  a  deserter. 

PAGE  155.     OLIVER  BASSELIN. 

Oliver  Basselin,  the  "  Pere  joyeux  du  Vaudeville" 
flourished  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and  gave  to  his  con- 
vivial songs  the  name  of  his  native  valleys,  in  which  he 
sang  them,  Yaux-de-Vire.  This  name  was  afterwards 
corrupted  into  the  modern  Vaudeville. 

PAGE  160.     VICTOR  GALBRAITH. 

This  poem  is  founded  on  fact.  Victor  Galbraith  was  a 
bugler  in  a  company  of  volunteer  cavalry  ;  and  was  shot 
in  Mexico  for  some  breach  of  discipline.  It  is  a  common 
superstition  among  soldiers,  that  no  balls  will  kill  them 
unless  their  names  are  written  on  them.  The  old  prov- 
erb says,  "  Every  bullet  has  its  billet." 

PAGE  166.     I  remember  the  sea-fight  far  away. 
This  was  the  engagement  between  the  Enterprise  and 
Boxer,  off  the  harbor  of  Portland,  in  which  both  captains 


NOTES.  215 

were  slain.     They  were  buried  side  by  side,  in  the  cem- 
etery on  Mountjoy. 

PAGE  182.    SANTA  FILOMENA. 

"  At  Pisa  the  church  of  San  Francisco  contains  a 
chapel  dedicated  lately  to  Santa  Filomena  ;  over  the  altar 
is  a  picture,  by  Sabatelli,  representing  the  Saint  as  a 
beautiful,  nymph-like  figure,  floating  down  from  heaven, 
attended  by  two  angels  bearing  the  lily,  palm,  and  jave- 
lin, and  beneath,  in  the  foreground,  the  sick  and  maimed, 
who  are  healed  by  her  intercession."  —  MRS.  JAMESON, 
Sacred  and  Legendary  Art,  II.  298. 


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